


Grey Hearts

by TheSailingRabbit



Series: Bad Company [7]
Category: Alien Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Drama, Diary/Journal, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSailingRabbit/pseuds/TheSailingRabbit
Summary: After a horrific accident lands Pvt. Hudson in an ICU, Drake is led to believe the Weyland-Yutani botanist in charge of the facility had malicious intent. While the case remains ambiguous, Drake heads to Washington, D.C., to see Hudson before the botanist can do any harm, and run into difficulties with androids along the way.
Relationships: Mark Drake/Jenette Vasquez
Series: Bad Company [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783390
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

I'm glad I didn't accidentally leave my journals behind when I went rummaging through my stuff before I hopped on a jet to the States. That would've been terrible, and made this plane trip even more boring than it already is. I probably wouldn't have realized I left them until going to open my bag on the plane, and then I would've been sour the whole flight before ordering enough alcohol to just sleep the whole time.

While at the airport not that long ago, some woman commented on my journals. She didn't see what was inside, but she noted the fact that I was carrying them (I didn't bother putting them in my backpack because I knew I was going to want them for the flight). I tried to ignore her, but she asked me if I was a writer. I was honest; I said "no," and that they were for my personal thoughts and feelings.

I probably shouldn't have said that, because she started going on about how writing my thoughts is good for my mental health and that going back and reading previous entries can help you process your emotions and whatnot. I took a breath, and told her that I've been doing this for a few months and my mental health is still shitty.

Again, I shouldn't have said that.

Wow, this trip is off to a fucked-up start. There's this, and then there's the fact that Delhoun decided to order the fanciest-looking latté-thing at a café right before we had to get to our terminal. How we managed to even get on our flight, I don't know.

Now that we're taking off, I'll take the time to recount everything that's happened over the last two days. Good thing I brought along five blank books.

* * *

After I got released from a three-week punishment on Gateway Station for threatening to hit Bishop, my squad's android, I was returned to my unit with some added baggage, namely, a double dose of toxic fumes from a lab full of silver flowers. Because of these flowers, I've been really sick. Not only that, I've been having nightmares and seeing things during the day, which I can only guess is not a good thing. The only thing I can do is keep it to myself and Vasquez, because I'm afraid of what could happen if I tell someone. I'm afraid of getting kicked out of the Marines and sent back to prison. I'm afraid of never getting a second chance. I don't want to live out the rest of my life knowing I threw away my one and only shot at turning my life around.

When I returned to RIFT 1, I had thought everything was going to go back to normal up until I developed what's called toxic discharge-where my body tries to force out the rest of the silver flower poison through a high fever. That was how I met Dr. Hornby. He took me to his lab in Brisbane to do an exam and take some samples in order to develop an antidote for silver flower poison. A few days after, there was an attack on the labs and neighboring hospital. Hudson had dove into a growing lab full of silver flowers to escape a flashbang, and, as you may have guessed, was badly poisoned. I was the one who had dragged him out of the lab, and, frankly, I'm surprised Hudson survived. There wasn't a soul around that wasn't in shock over how Hudson looked when we got him out of the lab. Even Dietrich, who is normally unpleasant and very stoic when she works, looked horrified.

We had been told that he'd be treated here in Australia, but we were all wrong. Without telling any of us, or any of our commanding officers, Hornby flew Hudson to Washington, D.C., supposedly for treatment, but we all have our suspicions. Delhoun was the one who suggested Hornby could be taking advantage of this to test antidotes on Hudson. After all, we couldn't identify who the terrorists were, but we know some flowers were stolen from the labs. We know former Seegson employees turned to terrorism, but according to documents from a base on LV-510 after one of them cut the power on Gateway, they have no plans for developing a chemical weapon, nor do they have the means for it. That pretty much narrows it down to any number of rebel groups scattered across the globe and our colonies. LV-510 especially is a hotbed for it because of how easy it is to hide there.

LV-510 was one of the first few Earth-like colonies established. As of now, there are three major cities, with smaller ones being established between them. With so much wilderness, it's very easy for fugitives, criminals, terrorists, and rebels alike to hide. They've even set up their own "miniature colonies" in the Shevril Jungle and along the coast of the isthmus connecting the New Holland Territory to Netrayas. Marines call them "pirate towns," because they're a lot like the settlements made by sailing pirates in ye olde days of the 1600s-uncivilized, infested with crime, and dangerous. If you get kidnapped and taken to one of these places, you might not return.

So, yeah, it might take awhile before we find out who took the flowers, which has me on edge because I don't want to face a silver flower weapon on the field. That's the only reason I can get behind Hornby speeding up his work, but I'm not so sure I'm OK with him using Hudson as a test subject, especially since no one in the Marines gave him permission, and I know damn well Hudson didn't give him permission.

Maybe I should've gone in his place.

The day I was set to leave for D.C., the other Marines were devastated to learn that Hudson had been sent overseas, and I couldn't blame them for being a little angry about it. I noticed a look of hurt in Frost's eyes. He and Hudson were close. Spunkmeyer, too. He looked pissed, and he hung his head, like he didn't want us to see his anger.

A mix of emotions had sapped my appetite as I followed everyone into the mess hall, where Bishop was setting out plates of powdered eggs, milk, and sausage. My thoughts were all over the place, especially when we all realized that it was very quiet without Hudson. I knew I was undertaking a pretty risky mission, going by myself to D.C. to get some information on what Hornby was doing with Hudson. Apone gave me strict orders not to interfere with Hornby's work, and to report anything suspicious to General Russell's office in the Pentagon.

Vasquez touched my knee under the table, and looked at me from the corner of her eye. I gave her a small smile, and touched her knee back, as if to say I was going to be OK.

After breakfast was light physical training. I really wanted to push myself, even though I had four more days until I was supposed to see results from Doctor Hornby's injection from the night he first saw me. I didn't want to sit around. Instead of pushing myself and being victorious, I pushed myself and threw up in a tire lying on the ground. I cursed myself, and I could almost feel my self-esteem dropping through the bottom of my heart.

Shortly before lunch, I went into the base's gym. I was alone, so no one could see me spontaneously break down when I failed. I stood in front of a punching bag, pretending everything I hated about myself was written all over it. As I socked the bag, I didn't notice Vasquez walking into the gym, dropping a bag of spare clothing on a bench. She watched me for a few seconds before approaching me, not even bothering to greet me. "Are you sure you're going to be alright out there?"

I gave the bag one more punch before turning to face Vasquez. "I'll be fine," I said. "This is important. I know Hudson can be annoying, but he's still our teammate."

Vasquez nodded. "I wouldn't wish any sort of harm on him." She watched me punch the bag and then got on the other side to punch it along with me. "Try to keep up."

I smirked. "Challenge accepted, sweetheart."

We punched the bag back and forth between each other, which involved a lot of laughter as we went. We've done this before, and the goal is focus and not let the bag hit you when your partner punches it back to you. It's fun if your reflexes don't suck. We've tried playing it with Hudson and the whole unit exploded into the laughter when Vasquez punched it hard enough to smack into him and knock him to the floor. Even Wierzbowski was laughing. And Dietrich was laughing, which is actually terrifying considering we've never really seen her smile. Here she was, smiling and laughing at someone else's pain.

When we finished, we grabbed our waters, and I felt an urge tugging in my gut, a desire to share a tender moment. Needless to say, as I was about to brush the back of my hand against Vasquez's soft cheek, the door to the gym opened, rendering any and all affection between us at that time impossible. We both looked to see a shirtless Spunkmeyer walking in, and Vasquez abruptly slapped me, making it look like we were just fooling around like comrades instead of lovers. That, and a shirtless Spunkmeyer is enough to kill any sense of tender feelings and romance.

* * *

After packing a duffel bag and a backpack full of clothes and hygiene products, as well as my journals, I decided to say good-bye to Vasquez. I was lucky to find her alone in her bedroom, because there was a lot I wanted to say.

She didn't seem too happy about the fact that I was going away again. In fact, I think she was afraid I was going to have another near-death experience. It was difficult for her to cover that up, and her tough exterior began to crack.

For the first time in a long time, she told me she loved me. We gave each other a tight hug, then she called me a moron, and I smirked.

"I'll be back, OK?" I said.

"You better," Vasquez replied. "I don't want to wake up one day and hear you're lying in a hospital next to Hudson."

"I promise, you won't hear that." Now, that's a promise I shouldn't be making, because God only knows what's going to happen on this trip. Then again, I cared about Vasquez. We tease each other, we call each other names, but we care about each other. We've been with each other for a long time, and we would do anything for each other. I decided to solidify that by holding onto her tighter. I should've done a better job with how my face looked, because something was probably better than no expression at all.

"You're a magnificent animal, Drake. Big, dumb, yet . . ." Vasquez jabbed my chest, "you have a heart."

Now I had the chance to run my finger against her cheek. She then ran hers along my jawline, then grabbed my face to kiss me. She then pushed my head away, taking a breath. I set my bag down, taking a deep breath before gently taking her head to kiss her. Her arms snaked around my neck, and she kept the kiss going, occasionally pausing to nuzzle my face. I kissed her cheeks and her forehead, and whispered, "It might be a little while before you see me again. Should we-"

Vasquez responded by closing the bedroom door and nudging me toward the bed. "Go ahead."

I took off my belt before Vasquez covered us both with the blanket on her bed. Before the pants could go, she noticed something on my forehead. "Drake, wait."

"What?" I said.

"You're sweating silver."

I had felt something wet on the side of my forehead, but I didn't realize it was silver sweat until touching it. "Oh."

"Didn't that doctor say you were gonna be flushing that shit through your bodily fluids?"

"I believe he did. Why?"

Vasquez gave me a look. "I don't think we should be having sex if that's the case."

She had a point. I got off of her, pulling my pants back up. I sighed, not out of disappointment, but out of frustration. "Sorry," I said.

"It's OK. We can do it when you get better." Vasquez gave me a small grin.

I adjusted my clothing, and grabbed the strap on my duffel bag from the floor, unable to find something more to say. I knew I was going to think of everything I wanted to say when I was away from her, and that was when my heart started to hurt just now.

* * *

I stopped writing for a little while because Delhoun was sound asleep and snoring, which made it hard to concentrate. I was torn on what to do, because it'd be rude to wake him.

But, I can be rude. So I shook Delhoun until he woke up.

"What?" he asked, giving me a dirty look.

"You're snoring," I said.

"And? I did offer to get you noise-cancelling headphones." Delhoun sighed. "Why don't you get some sleep yourself? We still have twelve more hours on the plane."

I'll admit, I tried to sleep for a little bit. It wasn't a very restful sleep, so when I next awoke, I went back to writing.

Delhoun wasn't originally going to come with me. He thought the idea of going to simply check on Hudson was insane and could potentially get us in trouble, so I figured I was going to the States on my own. I didn't have a problem with that.

I had been dropped off at the airport in the morning, with my issued duffel bag, my ticket, and my sidearm hidden in a holster under my shirt. Once I found my terminal, I decided to get a proper breakfast. It's been awhile since I had any good coffee.

There were hundreds or thousands of people wandering around, all doing their own thing, minding their own business. I sat by the window of a café, enjoying my coffee, just observing.

The strange part was that even though I was surrounded by people, listening to conversations, watching life play out, I felt alone. I mean, I was sitting alone, but I wasn't completely alone. No one paid any attention to me, and I didn't pay any attention to them. It was almost as if I was in an empty café.

I figured that was going to be my whole trip, and it was at that moment where I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

While heading to my terminal to show my ticket, I heard someone drop their bags behind me, followed by a familiar voice cursing. I turned around to see Delhoun, looking out-of-breath. "Alright, Drake, you win," he said.

"Won what?" I asked.

Delhoun sighed. "I'm coming with you."

I snorted. "What made you change your mind?"

"When it hit me you were serious about doing this. Please, though, promise me you won't do anything stupid or rash . . . and if you do, don't get me involved."

"Actually, I'm under orders not to interfere. If I see anything, I have to go to the Pentagon."

"Good. Makes me feel better." Delhoun picked up his bags.

"Did you run all the way to the airport?"

"Partly. I'm just happy I didn't miss the flight."

So, yeah, I'm not actually going to be completely alone on this trip, and I'll admit I'm glad I won't be. There was a part of me that wished I had asked Vasquez to come with me. No, I should have asked her to come with me. How could I be so stupid?

I cursed myself for not thinking about doing that earlier. It was a little too late to go back now. If Vasquez was mad at me over this, I don't blame her. "I'm such an idiot," I hissed aloud.

Delhoun looked like he had managed to get back to sleep for a little while when he heard me. He looked over his shoulder at me. "How are you an idiot, Drake?"

"I should've asked Vasquez to come with me, and I didn't."

Delhoun sighed. "If this task goes poorly, would you want to put her in harm's way?"

"No, but-"

"There's a reason you forgot. Let's leave it at that." He didn't say anything else, but he did offer me a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts.

I thought I didn't have an appetite until my stomach voiced its opinion, so I took the bag, pouring some of its contents in my mouth. "Still feels wrong I didn't ask."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you when you go back. Besides, from what you've told me, she doesn't sound like the type to hold grudges over something like that." Delhoun turned back to the window, and I took that as a sign he wanted to sleep the rest of the flight.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up and realized I had been lying in a somewhat awkward position for the last several hours. I could not wait to sleep in a real bed when I felt a slight pain shoot up my back and through both shoulders. Sitting up, I stretched a little before grunting, "Are we there yet?"

Delhoun's only response was a snort in his sleep. He stirred somewhat.

"Right, then," I sighed. "I'm going back to sleep." I hadn't been laying there for two minutes when Delhoun tapped my shoulder, and I gave him a dirty look.

"One more hour," he said, adjusting himself. "You were tossing and turning for quite awhile."

I frowned. As I continued to wake, I was starting to remember my bad dreams.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm . . ." I looked down at my lap, listening to the jet's engines and fans around and under us. "Just . . . bad . . . bad dreams."

"Anything you'd like to talk about?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Just . . . same shit as last time. I can't breathe. I . . . I keep seeing the doctors reviving me, and the things I saw while hallucinating. I-I keep hearing you breaking the glass to get into the lab."

Delhoun nodded a little. "What do you think that all means, Drake?"

"Means I'm losing my mind."

A sad smile crossed Delhoun's face. "It means you might need some help."

I sighed. "I can't get help. I'll get thrown out of the Marines."

Delhoun didn't respond. He shifted again, and settled back down for more sleep.

Needless to say, I tried to get more sleep, but didn't. However, when we landed in D.C., it was four o'clock in the morning, and the jet lag kicked in almost immediately. Delhoun and I stepped off the plane with our luggage and I got the feeling we were both struggling to comprehend what time it was. The airport was surprisingly busy, and people were pushing past us.

I collapsed on a bench, and rubbed my face. "Dear God, what just happened?" I groaned.

Delhoun sat next to me, sighing loudly.

We stayed there for quite awhile. I felt like someone was whacking a mallet against my head, and kept telling myself that we had to get up and get a taxi to go to the hotel. "I'm getting up now," I said, even though I was going to sit there for another five minutes. "Now." Again, I didn't. "Alright, now I am." I forced myself up, grabbing the handle of my luggage.

As we stepped outside the airport, we were greeted by the skyline of Washington, D.C. I frankly didn't have the energy to raise my arm and hail a taxi, so we headed in the direction of the subway. We started heading down the stairs, and in all my tiredness, I dropped my duffel bag, and it went rolling down the steps.

"Oh, that was simply . . . graceful, Drake," Delhoun said. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but was too tired to do so.

"Shut up," I replied, going down the stairs to get my bag.

Once we were both in the subway stop, we walked up to one of the machines to get our Metro cards. I just had to slide my military I.D. in to get mine, while Delhoun fumbled around with his wallet, tiredly putting money in to both get the card and pay for a certain number of stops.

"Should've grabbed some coffee before doing this," he muttered.

I watched, almost falling asleep against the machine in the process. "Hurry up so we can go to bed."

"If you rush me, I'll lock you out of the hotel room."

"That's if you get there first."

* * *

Once we were on the train to Crystal City, I wanted to fall asleep again, but I had to pay attention to where we were going. Considering Delhoun was beginning to fall asleep, too, I couldn't afford to rely on him to let me know if we were approaching our destination.

The movement of the train was making me more drowsy. My head felt heavy, and I involuntarily rested it on the railing between the seat and the aisle. I was almost immediately whisked into a dream, and saw a hunched man walking in front of me down a busy street. Abruptly, the man stopped and became violently ill. His vomit was white, and I realized he wasn't a man, but an android. He continued to throw up until he was just spitting, and then stood up, resuming his hunched walk.

I was awakened by Delhoun shaking me. He helped me stand, and we walked off the train at the platform claiming we arrived at Crystal City. We went through a large underground mall before coming up to the lobby of the hotel, a Marriott that's been around for quite some time. I think I had just enough energy to confirm our registration. At least the ladies at the desk were kind enough to tell us to get some rest.

Our room keys in hand, we made a seemingly long trudge to the elevator, and, again, the movement made me want to drop off right then and there. I leaned against the wall, but opened my eyes just a little when the elevator finally stopped at our floor.

Delhoun was sweet enough to grab all the luggage and awkwardly hold it while trying to figure out how to work the key. It's basically a card that you stick in the lock, and the poor guy was so tired that it took him awhile to figure out which end went in the slot. I think he swore a few times. In French. Unless my brain was just really fried from the jet lag.

Eventually, we were in the room, and the most I did was kick off my boots before collapsing on one of the beds, out cold before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I was a little confused when I awoke to find I was still in my clothes, but I also didn't know what day it was or the time. I glanced at a clock, which read "9:25 AM," and everything came back. The long flight, the excruciating walk and train ride, and simply flopping on the bed.

Slowly sitting up, I rubbed my face, finding I needed to shave. I looked over at the second bed, seeing Delhoun conked out as well. A wave of guilt crashed over me as I remembered how grumpy I was last night, and how all he was doing was helping me. Best thing to do was leave him alone and let him sleep. Not to mention, he was pretty grouchy, too.

I got out of bed, and took my duffel bag from the floor, dropping it on the bed to rummage around for my toiletries. Once I found my razor and shaving cream, I headed right into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as I could. I figured I may as well shower while I was at it, because I haven't bathed in well over twenty-four hours. At base, we have rules for how long we can shower and how high the temperature and pressure can be. Not here. I cranked up the pressure to wake myself up and cranked up the temperature because I'm tired of cold showers.

There's a feeling that comes with taking a hot shower when you're exhausted; you feel human again. I was awake again, and I took my sweet time in that shower, not giving a rat's ass.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist and standing in front of the sink. Lathering shaving cream on my face, I took my time with that as well, running the razor cleanly over my skin, making sure I didn't miss a single spot. I noticed a bottle of aftershave near the faucet, and I couldn't remember the last time I ever used aftershave. Prying off the cap, I took a sniff, then poured some of the liquid in my hand to rub on my face. There was a really sexy scent to it, and I wondered if Vasquez would like it.

Dammit, I shouldn't have thought of that. Now . . . I missed her. A lot. And I was still pissed about not asking her to come with me.

I continued rubbing the aftershave on my face, my thoughts changing drastically. I went from having fun to being homesick and miserable. _Come on. This is only for a week. You'll see her again soon._ With the towel still wrapped around my waist, I left the bathroom, finding Delhoun sitting up in bed with the TV on. I opened my duffel bag to grab some clean clothes, then went back into the bathroom to put my clothes on, relieved to be wearing something fresh and dry, and headed back outside.

"Good morning, Drake," Delhoun said, yawning.

I didn't respond. I sat back on the bed, feeling tired. Why did I still feel so tired? Why am I even here? I rubbed my face, moaning. "What the fuck am I doing? We're here because we're paranoid that Hudson's going to be used as a guinea pig. Somehow, we're qualified to stop that from happening."

"This was your idea, Drake."

I rolled my eyes. "You're the one who told me Hornby's working on a chemical weapon."

Delhoun shrugged. "That doesn't mean you had to act on it."

"Doesn't matter. Too late now. The main focus of this . . mission, if you even want to call it that, is to find where Hudson is and make sure Hornby isn't planning on doing anything horrible to him." I adjusted the pillows so I could lean back. "I didn't go to spy school. This is complete bullshit."

Delhoun glanced at me. "Is there . . . anything you'd like to talk about? You've been very cranky since we got on the plane in Australia, and even though I've asked numerous times, you refuse to talk to me."

I glared at him. "Did we just meet or something? No, I'm not OK. I just . . . I'm frustrated. I'm homesick. I have no idea what timezone we're in."

"Ah, so you're anxious and stressed that you're in a completely new place."

I took a breath. "Are you going to keep pointing out the obvious?"

"So far as you bitch and moan without giving me a chance to help you, yes. I didn't come along to listen to your griping."

"You think I bitch and moan, huh?" I folded my arms over my chest, a sudden anger swelling inside. "I gotta put up with you, too. Which is it, Delhoun? Are you going to help me, or are you going to be like everyone else and continue to just tell me everything that's wrong with me? I know what's wrong. The fact that I _exist_ is wrong enough. Why don't you just open then window and chuck me outside? We're right above the road. I'll get hit by a truck or something and then no one has to deal with my bullshit ever again."

I know I didn't mean that, but Delhoun didn't know. He looked at me, concern filling his eyes, and said, "Please, don't talk like that, Drake."

Staring at him, I rubbed my face, smelling the aftershave. Again, I thought of Vasquez, of how I promised to come back. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I'm very sorry." I looked in Delhoun's direction through my fingers. "I don't know how many more times I gotta get pushed down before I get up and stay up, especially since I'm the one beating myself down."

Delhoun reached over to pat my shoulder, then said, "Perhaps you should have some breakfast. Maybe you'll think more clearly after you've eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

Delhoun wasn't buying that. He got out of bed, and went to the door, gesturing for me to follow him. "You're going to come downstairs with me, or I will drag you out of bed myself.

"Oh, no, buddy, you're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to leave this bed."

Note to self: don't say that to Delhoun when he makes a threat, because he will carry it out. It is a bit terrifying seeing someone with ruby-red eyes coming at you, and Delhoun is a lot stronger than he looks, probably because he wrangles Annxers all day.

Yes, he did drag me out of bed, and out into the hall.

I'm not going to forget the looks some of the people in the hallway were giving us.

* * *

Now that I was more awake, I could actually see how nice the hotel lobby was, but I couldn't get past the fact that there were so many people and I was accompanied by an albino. I tried to pretend that I was alone.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and I was sure all the restaurants wouldn't be serving breakfast anymore. The mall was underneath the hotel and several other hotels and apartment buildings, and below the mall was the Metro. I glanced around, seeing people of all walks of life. Privately, I was glad that I was out of uniform, because I didn't need to have any attention drawn towards me.

OK, that was already impossible with Delhoun accompanying me, but, still.

We found a small café that was still open. Their breakfast rush had ended fifteen minutes ago, but they were more than happy to serve us, especially when I showed them my military I.D. As we sat, I glanced over my shoulder, seeing a familiar figure talking to another man next to him at the counter. I hissed at Delhoun. "That's Doctor Hornby."

Delhoun looked up, tilting his head to see what I was looking at. "Well, hell, it is," he whispered with his mouth full.

"Don't stare too long," I whispered. "He might see us."

"I know him. He'd recognize me."

"Anyone would recognize you, no offense."

Delhoun glanced at me, then back at Hornby. "Looks like he's just getting breakfast of his own."

"Who's the guy next with him, in the labcoat?"

Delhoun looked back up, studying Hornby's companion. "I don't recognize him."

"Well, it's not Doctor Garavich," I said. "He was the one who treated me on Gateway and the labs in Brisbane."

"That's odd."

"What?"

"Garavich is usually Hornby's 'right-hand man.' Why he's not here is a little strange. They almost always spend time together outside the lab."

"Close friends?"

"Yes. They went to college together. Both were in the top ten students of their graduating class. Garavich is the . . . caring one when it comes to his work. Very gentle and always seeks to help any human test subjects if they're suffering. Hornby would have-or _should have_ -brought Garavich along if he's testing on Hudson."

"So, does that mean he's _not_ performing experiments on Hudson?"

Delhoun didn't look sure. "No."

Luckily for us, Hornby didn't even look in our general direction. We couldn't hear his conversation, and I felt a chill go down my spine as I contemplated what that conversation was.

* * *

Frankly, I think five dollars is too much for a bran muffin. A _bran muffin_ , of all things. I generally don't eat things as bland as bran muffins, because it reminds me way too much of the rations, but the documents I was given about getting the silver flower toxin out of my system stated foods rich in fiber absorb the liquid and prevent it from irritating the lining in my digestive tract, and a lot of other biological nonsense I don't care to remember because I'm tired of hearing it.

By the time we finished breakfast, Hornby had disappeared, and we didn't see what direction he took off in. I mean, Delhoun would've seen if he wasn't doing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

"Alright," I said after paying for the food, "let's go find Hudson."

"Patience," Delhoun said, softly. "We don't know if he's seen us and if he even cares. We don't need him getting jumpy and nervous. He can act rash in the right situation. We can look, but don't look like we're actively looking for something."

We headed pretty deep into the mall, to the places where people only go when they really need it, like a chiropractor, for instance. I personally wanted to stop in after being cooped up on the plane, but it was probably expensive and I just didn't feel I had the time. Eventually, we found ourselves much further underground at the Metro platform. There were mainly tourists at this hour, and, luckily, none of them wanted to bother me.

Given that we were underground most of the morning, we didn't know what the weather was like, and I could only hope it was decent. Delhoun and I paused in front of a map. "Would Hornby have access to military hospitals?" I asked.

"I'm actually not sure," Delhoun replied. "If your colonel wasn't informed about this, then probably not."

"I want to check."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Your call."

As we sat down and the train started moving, someone start coughing, and I turned to see an android spitting white flecks into a napkin. I frowned as I started thinking about the dream I had last night, but I dismissed it as a coincidence.

The android remained silent after that, but he glanced in our direction, and started coughing again. I sighed before saying, "Are you OK?"

He nodded before spitting in the napkin again. I took note of the fact that he looked nothing like Bishop, so he was either a model that came before, or he was some kind of prototype. He glanced at his hand, making sure there wasn't any fluid on it, before holding it out to me. "They call me Mathias." There was definitely something wrong with his voice. If he was a prototype, he was a poor one at that. "You're a Marine, aren't you?"

"How can you tell?"

"Your I.D. is in one of your pockets. Mark Drake, is it?"

I nodded.

The train stopped, and Mathias prepared to get off. He didn't say another word to us, and just kept coughing as he stepped onto the platform. I glanced at Delhoun, whose eyes were wide with total fear.


	3. Chapter 3

I doubted we would see Mathias again. Privately, I hoped he'd get fixed or something. Even though androids don't feel pain . . . actually, maybe they do, and I just don't know. I don't think it's right that he wanders around in such a state. Who's taking care of him? Did he get out of a showroom or something? Did his owner just give up and turn him loose? Anyway, I just didn't think we were going to run into him again. I knew you saw odd things in the city, but I certainly wasn't expecting that.

The weather was bright and sunny as we emerged from the Metro station, but it didn't do much to improve my mood. My mind kept wandering back to last night and earlier this morning, especially to when I told Delhoun to throw me out the window so I could get hit by a vehicle. I honestly didn't mean that at all, but I knew that wasn't exactly something I should've said because not everyone can see that I don't mean what I say sometimes. I also had a feeling that saying that meant I was doing a horrible job at pressing myself forward; I felt like I was pressing myself backward.

I knew this was all about how I reacted to a situation. This had nothing to do with Delhoun accusing me of being bitchy. He was just pointing out what was wrong with me, and I was doing nothing to change that.

Thinking about that created an ache in my heart-the bruises I mentioned were still there, and taking their sweet time in healing. The funny part was that this was all tracing back to the fact that I still feel guilty about my past. Every incident with me had a link to my past. It was like a bacteria that infected everything in sight, but only I had the medicine to treat it, and I didn't know how to use it.

As we stood at a crosswalk, Delhoun glanced at me, giving me a somewhat concerned look. He must've been thinking about this morning as well. "Are you alright, Drake?"

"I'm OK," I said. "Just thinking." I gave him a weak smile, and somehow I knew he could see right through it.

I became too lost in my head to focus on what we were doing. We walked by two hospitals, and we didn't even bother going in to ask if Hudson was there. By the time I realized that, it was a little past noon, and everything from the jet lag to my guilt was about to crash down on my head like a piano in those old cartoons. I collapsed on a bench, covering my face. Tiredness had completely washed over me. "I'm so sorry, Delhoun."

Delhoun sat next to me, looking more concerned than before. He didn't say a word, and let me talk.

"We walked by two hospitals, didn't we?"

He nodded. "Do you want to go back to look?"

I gave a groan of disappointment, ignoring the question. "What am I doing to myself?"

"You look like you're thinking a little too much."

"Again with pointing out the obvious!"

"Well, you asked what you were doing to yourself, and I gave you an answer. You need to talk to me in order for me-well, anyone, really-to help you."

"I know." I took a breath and sighed. "I'm . . . I'm sorry about this morning."

"About how you wanted me to throw you out the window?"

"Yes. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't mean it, but it's still something you shouldn't have said because it carries weight. It was a cry for help, but you wouldn't have gotten the help you're looking for. You're trying to improve yourself so you can continue with the Marines without issue, not get discharged and placed in psychiatric care. At the same, maybe that's the help you need. I can only do so much."

"I know. But what if I do get discharged? I'll get sent back to prison."

Delhoun sighed. "I won't say anything to anyone. I promise. Unless this really gets bad. You won't be able to let this go forever, and I can only hope you can hold out for the next . . . four years. I'll still help as best I can."

"Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate it." I gave another sigh. "Maybe I don't give you enough credit."

"I don't think you do, either."

"I'm talking about the fact that you came along with me. You . . . You know that I'm mentally self-destructive, and that I need someone to be with me and just . . . keep me from getting too lonely or . . . hurting myself." I looked at him. "Whatever the case, things would've been a lot different if I'd come here alone. I don't know what I'd be doing."

"Probably wandering around the airport in a hopeless daze."

I couldn't help but feel he was right.

* * *

That whole first day was spent getting acquainted with the area, but I also felt like we needed to hurry and find Hudson because we had spotted Hornby earlier.

It wasn't until five that evening that we actually stopped moving. Having skipped lunch, we were both starving and settled on the first restaurant we saw, which was a really small, dimly lit place on the corner of the same block the hotel was on. Of course, it was the rush hour, so it took forever for us to get our food, and even our drinks took too long.

"Fuck it. I don't care what any doctor says. I want alcohol," I declared.

Delhoun didn't offer any protest. He simply shrugged, his eyes gradually shifting back down to the menu. "Considering neither of us will be driving at all this week, I'll have some, too."

There was no conversation the whole time we were eating. I loosened my belt after dinner, leaning back in the chair and resting my hand on my stomach. Delhoun glanced at me, then said, "I take it you're not going to order dessert?"

"No. You can if you want to," I said, yawning. I was actually content for the first time in what felt like weeks.

It was while I was sitting and digesting that I started to think we should've checked at least one hospital for Hudson that day. Every second we wasted was more seconds bought for Hornby-that is, if he's here to use Hudson for experiments. That whole idea disturbed me. Hudson was completely unaware of this. He was probably in a deep sleep, having dreams and nightmares of varying sorts.

I've never heard of someone being traumatized by the images their brain paints when they're asleep. There are times where I shudder if I even think about when I was out because of the silver flowers. So many scenes passed by. Incomprehensible, yet could fill a book. I had nightmares about my past, about losing people I cared about . . .

Strangely, I can remember a fleeting dream where I felt like I was going to fly out of a building that was threatening to collapse. Holes had been blown into the wall. Things not bolted down were flying out, and I distinctly remember a lamp bashing into Hicks as he screamed orders at us. I was lying on my belly, half outside one of the gaping holes, holding Hudson's hand, trying to keep him from falling. I remembered I had been holding the hand of someone in my squad, but I hadn't been able to figure out who until now.

Below us, the unnamed city was fine, but everything had stopped when this building decided to call it quits. Then, my muscles abruptly relaxed, and I let go of Hudson. I watched, powerless, as he disappeared in a white cloud, screams echoing.

I felt like a brick with the word "guilt" written on it smashed against the top of my skull. Tears choked me, and I sat, up, resting my elbows on the table and rubbing my face. I really hoped no one saw I was about to cry.

Well, Delhoun saw, and that was OK. He leaned over to make eye contact with me, and gave me a concerned look. I allowed two tears to fall while he watched, and a sob escaped my throat. Without a second thought, Delhoun cancelled his dessert order, and after paying for both our dinners, he led me outside. I forced myself to hold in the sobs. Guilt and anger and confusion were all squeezing my heart and whacking my brain hard like little kids playing with hammers.

I was suddenly grabbed in a tight embrace by Delhoun. I don't think he knew what to say, but, in all honesty, that was OK. A primal desire for comfort had completely consumed me, and I sobbed hard. I felt pathetic, yet I knew I needed this; otherwise, it was going to fester and I was going to spew out that infection later on at someone who didn't deserve it. My face heated up, both with an increase in blood pressure and my tears, and I breathed, "This is all my fault. It's all my fault Hudson's sick. I saw it in a dream and I did nothing about it!"

Thinking back, that "I saw it in a dream" sounds really nonsensical, but I wasn't processing what I was saying very clearly, so I'll let it slide.

Delhoun rubbed my shoulder, and was probably thinking that I shouldn't be blaming myself. He let me cry for as long as I needed to, and then let go. He then pulled a pack of tissues from one of his pockets to wipe away the remaining tears, but he couldn't do anything about the redness or the shininess from the liquid in my eyes. It was still obvious I was upset. There was a look of absolute sorrow on his face, and I could tell he was thinking a bit too hard as well. "Let's go back to the hotel. I think you need to get some rest," he said.

When we returned to our hotel room, I explained what happened in my head at the restaurant to Delhoun. He simply nodded as I talked, not breaking eye contact with me. I can't seem to describe how I felt a thousand times better after talking to Delhoun about my sudden breakdown and my nightmares while I was poisoned and how I felt responsible for Hudson's illness.

Delhoun did eventually reply, and basically stated (as I thought), that I can't blame myself and that I'm on the verge of destroying myself. I'm not improving myself by heaping on guilt when my brain can't hold anymore. I need to confront what's making me feel this way.

I can't confront my past, though. I don't know how. I can't go back and get my prison sentence revoked. I sacrificed too much. I either failed to redeem myself, or I just haven't figured out how yet.

But I can talk to Hudson. I can talk to Delhoun. I can convince them of my strengths, that I'm not a failure, that I didn't mean them any harm.

I can't keep trying to run. I can't keep trying to hide. I can't keep letting it sit inside my heart. I have to do something. I'm the only one who can make myself stronger, more resilient.

I just to have to keep telling myself that I'm going to do this, and I'm not going to beat myself back down.

* * *

As much as my talk with Delhoun helped, it didn't allow me to sleep peacefully at night. I tossed and turned, wishing I could just fall asleep. When I did, I had nightmares. Everything a person suffering from guilt and shame doesn't want to see. I was forced to relive my past. I had no control over what I was doing. I couldn't stop myself. I was bleeding and crying silver. I was a complete failure. Bars slammed shut in front of me, and I grabbed them, despite how slick my hands were from the silver gunk covering me. I screamed, begging for another chance . . .

I jolted awake around one in the morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. Not if I was going to go back to the past and re-experiencing that pain and loss. Not if I was going to see my fears about my future.

For a moment, I looked out the window. Life in the city went on. No one gave a shit about a nobody like me. I was fine with that. I don't care about them either. Fair's fair.

And yet, I felt like I had a massive space in my heart. It hurt. It was loneliness and a desire to connect and to prove my worth.

A single tear rolled down my right cheek. I didn't want to cry again. Please, dear God, no. No more crying.

I covered my face, that space consuming my chest. For emptiness, it sure was painful. I struggled to cry softly, because I didn't want to wake Delhoun. I didn't want him to see me like this again. I couldn't. It isn't fair for him to keep dealing with me like this. I needed to just give him a break tonight.

Throwing my covers off, I ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before releasing my breath, and sobbing. I continued to cover my face, feeling as though the whole city was watching me collapse inside myself.

* * *

Delhoun would awake to find me sitting up in bed with red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. He sighed before getting out of his bed and decided not to say anything. He picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom to get dressed.

For a moment, I wondered if he had given up. Frankly, that made me feel worse. However, when he left the bathroom, he was smiling a little before picking up his room key. He gave me a "one minute" gesture before leaving the room. I stared at the door long after he left, and I sighed while grabbing the remote to turn on the TV, wondering what Delhoun was thinking.

You know what's funny? Turning on the TV and there's a melodramatic ad describing the exact problem you have. I mean, ads talking about depression and the brand-new antidepressant that's on the market aren't funny, but I still felt like I got punched in the stomach as the voiceover lady described all the things I was feeling right at the moment. Tiredness. Unexplained anger. Sadness. Bouts of crying. Being unable to focus. Guilt and shame that overpower your life because you don't know how to stop blaming yourself for everything.

Truth be told, I don't even know if I have depression, but I know if I was ever diagnosed, my career in the Marines was over. I'm already worried about trauma from what happened on Gateway. I pressed the mute button, and being flipping through channels until I landed on the overly happy weatherman who probably had four cups of coffee right before going on air.

Ten minutes later, Delhoun came back, holding a large styrofoam cup. He held the cup out to me, and I said, "What's this?"

"Just take it," Delhoun snapped.

"Don't you growl at me." I took the cup, sniffing at the contents before sipping it. It smelled like tea. "What the hell did you get this for?"

"It's chamomile tea. I always have some when I feel down."

"Well . . . thanks."

He nodded, and then sat on his bed. "How's it helping? I figured it was best to give you a little something before talking about what's on your mind."

"It's starting to help, but it's gonna take a lot more than tea to fix me." I sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not . . . you know, functioning all that well."

Delhoun didn't offer a reply, other than a nod.

"You're not mad, are you?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Good. I didn't think you were." I took another sip of the tea. "Look, I want to find Hudson soon. We know where those two hospitals are. We'll hop on the Metro when I'm done with this. I don't want breakfast. Don't even think about asking me whether or not I want breakfast. I'm not hungry. I'll skip every meal today if it means I can find Hudson."

Delhoun sighed, and I got the feeling he was going to drag me downstairs like yesterday. Luckily, he didn't, but he did threaten me if I kept refusing to eat.

Come on. He's surprisingly stronger than me. I'm not taking his threats as a joke.

"You're still going to have breakfast," Delhoun said. "I have an idea. We'll split up today, and cover more ground. You search the two hospitals we passed yesterday. I'll go look in another district."

I nodded. "Just contact me if you see anything wrong. I'm the only one of us that can get in the Pentagon."

"Speaking of which-" Delhoun picked up one of his bags, and searched around inside before taking out two small radios. "We'll stay in touch with these. They've got a limited radius, so we can't stray too far apart."

I took one of the radios, sliding it in a pocket. "Thanks. Where should we meet and when?"

"Let's meet at the café in the hotel lobby.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn't eat much for breakfast, but I did have coffee so I wasn't cranky or dealing with a headache throughout the day. Delhoun was getting a little pushy when it came to trying to help me, and I was planning to hunger strike if he didn't back off for a few hours.

Does that seem like a bit of a stretch? I don't care. I don't care at all.

While gnawing on a bagel at a bakery under the hotel, I glanced to my right to see Mathias, the android we saw yesterday. He was standing in a hunched position near the front of a shop across from us, not doing much of anything other than swaying gently back and forth in a dazed manner. Part of me wanted to go see how he was doing and whether or not he had been fixed. Privately, I doubted that, given how he was standing, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Standing up, I walked over to him, with the bagel. "Hey, Mathias. How's everything?"

As if on cue, Mathias started coughing. "Everything's fine . . . um . . . Drake, is it? I'm sorry. I'm not all that good with remembering names . . . not in my programming."

 _That's definitely strange._ "It's alright. Did you get fixed for your coughing at all?"

Mathias wrung his hands, looking down at the floor. "Oh, no, no, no. No, that's . . . that's not possible."

I frowned. "How is that not possible? You're broken."

"I know. That's how I'm supposed to be."

"Why? That's kinda fucked up."

"You're not authorized to know why. I'm sorry, Drake." Without looking back, Mathias jogged (well, staggered) away, leaving a trail of white droplets.

* * *

This thing with Mathias was going to bother me until I found out the truth of why he's broken, but my primary goal was finding Hudson. We've wasted enough time already, and we can't waste anymore.

I walked up to the front gates of a USCM hospital. The grounds within the fence had been torn up, and I saw a sign stating that they were getting an add-on to the hospital. Pretty much nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn't make me any less nervous.

I took a breath, hoping this was the hospital and I wouldn't have to go anywhere else. I could just call Delhoun on the radio and say everything is good, no need to get worried. Approaching the front desk, I took out my I.D., and asked the receptionist if Hudson was there. I noticed there were Marines guards both inside and outside the building.

She quickly turned to her computer and scrolled through some names. "Private William Hudson?"

"Yes," I said.

"He's in Intensive Care Unit Three-Six-four. Let me call and make sure he's conscious."

I leaned against the desk while waiting. I heard someone on the other line say, "Who's trying to see Hudson?"

"It's a Private Mark Drake, Doctor," the receptionist replied.

"Send him down. Hudson's going to be awake for another hour or so, then we're putting him back under for observation."

The receptionist hung up, and looked at me. "Go to your left, and you'll see a sign that says 'surgical labs.' Follow that sign until you come to a sign reading 'ICU,' then look for room number three-six-four, OK?"

I nodded, shoving my I.D. in my pocket before walking briskly in that direction. As soon as I passed the "surgical labs" sign, I entered a very quiet and spooky place. There were no more guards anywhere. The only sounds were the steady beeping of heartrate monitors, breathing machines, and the occasional paging of a doctor or nurse. I got the feeling that I really shouldn't be here.

A chill ran down my spine as I rounded a corner into another hallway leading to the labs, and the sign for the intensive care units. I was thinking about when I was laying in a bed for hours after getting my first experience with the silver flowers, and when I was wandering the orbital station with Winnie, hunting for the intruder that cut the power.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief when I came across the sign for the ICU, and followed it until I saw the number 364. Peering through the glass, I knocked on the door, and a man wearing a surgical mask answered.

"Are you Private Drake?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Come on in." Looking at me, the man added, "He just woke up an hour ago, so, be careful, alright? I'll be back in a few minutes. Press the blue 'call' button if you need anything."

Hudson was sitting upright on the edge of a pod-like structure with its glass dome wide open. There were no blankets or sheets. Just wires and small patches that were probably taped to Hudson's chest while he was sleeping. The thing looked uncomfortable to be in, so I was glad I wasn't the one stuck in it. Hudson looked drained. Literally. His cheeks were somewhat hollow, and I could see a couple ribs through the white, skin-tight suit he was wearing. There wasn't a lot of color in his face, except for the dark circles under his eyes. When he saw me, he didn't even want to roughly shake my hand; he just looked at me, dazed and exhausted. He didn't even look like he recognized me.

I had no idea what to say. I couldn't ask how he was feeling, because I knew exactly how he was feeling, and the last thing I wanted was to look like a complete dumbass.

Thankfully, I didn't have to be the first to speak. After groping around a small table for a glass of water, Hudson said, "What're you doing here, Drake?" His voice cracked a little, like he hadn't used it in some time.

I rubbed my face. I also didn't want to have a deep conversation about my guilt so early on. _I just need to make sure he's OK. He definitely doesn't look OK._ "I came to check on you."

Hudson looked down at his lap. "Check on me for what?"

"Just . . . make sure they're treating you right."

Hudson really wasn't himself. He was silent, looking as though he couldn't talk about what was going on no matter how hard he tried. I felt bad, knowing that feeling all too well. Normally, he was smiling and cracking jokes no matter the situation, but there was too much exhaustion written all over his face. I felt like he wanted to talk about what he went through, and I was the perfect person to listen because I went through the same thing.

Of course, I didn't want to talk about it the first time, so I had to stoke the fire a little to get him to say something. The short moments of silence were awkward and uncomfortable, especially since we never really sat down to talk to each other about personal stuff like this. I was usually very cold and closed off toward Hudson, and most of the other Marines, for that matter. The only one I ever really opened up to was Vasquez. I never saw a reason to even try and develop a bond deeper than what was considered professional with anyone else. "You wanna talk about what happened?" I tried not to sound pressuring. He knew that I had experience with the stupid flowers. Surely, that'd make him more comfortable talking to me.

Hudson took a breath. I could hear his lungs and diaphragm struggling to complete that action. It would be awhile before his breathing was normal again, but just like his mind, his body was traumatized by the ordeal. "We've both been wounded in combat before," he said. "Sure, we were scared, but, why is that . . . not the same as this? Is it the nightmares and the hallucinations . . . ?"

"Maybe. I dunno," I replied. "We knew what we were getting into when we enlisted. I guess we didn't expect something like this." I glanced at him. "What'd you see in your dreams and hallucinations? You tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what I saw."

"Well, I remember diving into the lab to avoid the flashbang. It was really cold in there. Then . . . I remember feeling dizzy and not being able to breathe."

My chest started to tighten with bad memories.

"Fell over, and saw these giant jungle trees starting to rise up around me. One of them dropped a vine, and I was trying to grab it, but it was out of reach. Somehow, I still wanted to grab it. Then you came, and your voice sounded really far away, and had this echo to it."

I drew in a breath, the tightening sensation spreading down to my stomach.

"Everything was blurry and muffled. I saw you and Wierzbowski and I think Hicks was there, too. Everyone was yelling, but it all sounded far away. I think I remember being put in the back of a vehicle. There were guys in there and one of them put a mask on my face, and that's when everything went black."

"Did you dream?"

Hudson nodded, and took a drink of water. "You remember being on LV-400?"

"I don't want to, but I do."

"Well, I saw myself there, in the deep snow, and there were bodies hanging from the tree branches. Yours, Hicks's, everyone's. I was completely alone. It . . . It was nighttime, and I was trying to find a way to survive or get off the planet or something. A big gust of snow came by, whited out the whole area, and then I look up and see some of the bodies are gone. Hicks had a burn mark on the left side of his face. You had the same thing, but there was also a mark on your chest. Then, the little creatures with the gas masks appeared, and they started screaming and howling. When the last howl faded off, I was suddenly wandering around this big city. People are everywhere, just going about their day, and I look at myself and see I've got blood all over. It's on my face and my neck and my chest and my back, my legs, everywhere, and no one's giving a shit. I wasn't in any pain, either, but . . . I just wanted to cry, and when I started crying, _then_ I was in pain." Some color had returned to Hudson's face; a touch of redness. It was in his cheeks and his eyes. He took another labored breath, and looked down at the floor.

I was silent for some time, because I didn't think anything I could say would be very helpful.

Eventually, Hudson regained eye contact with me. "You're not gonna tell anyone 'bout this, are you?"

I shook my head. "Not one person." I sighed. "I get it. Believe me, I'm still . . . I'm still trying to process everything that happened to me when I breathed in that toxin. I mean, nothing was actually happening. It was all in my head. It was just nightmares." A realization smacked me in the back of my head. "Apone's right; I gotta drop the load of shit I'm carrying around, but . . . I can't. If I'm suffering because of a couple of bad dreams . . . I'm weak, aren't I?"

Well, hello there, o familiar feeling of failure. Can't seem to fuck off, now, can you? That feeling of failure was combined with the realization that I was a weak person. It choked me, but I wasn't about to cry in front of Hudson.

"I don't think that makes you weak, man. How do you think I feel?" Hudson looked at me. "I was terrified when I woke up . . . If . . . it can even be considered waking up." He took a breath. "How long's it been?"

"Since you were poisoned? Four days."

Hudson stared ahead, looking unsure of how to take that. He sighed. "I . . . I'm not even sure what they're doing, man. I've-" He shuddered involuntarily, and shook his head. He was shivering, and then sniffed the air. His eyes darted back and forth. "Drake . . ."

I tried to make eye contact with him. "Yeah? Are you OK?"

"Yeah, man, I'm alright." Hudson looked up. Silver droplets ran down his face. I noticed his eyes were dilated. "Um . . . what was I saying earlier? Oh, yeah . . . you're not weak, Drake, if you're having nightmares about what happened."

I was looking down at the floor, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was all over my face though. Suddenly, I couldn't bear to make eye contact with anyone. I quickly stood up. "I . . . I gotta get going," I said. "I'll come back tomorrow."

What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have ended that so early.

This really is all my fault.

I hit my lowest point that day. I'm still having an adrenaline rush because of it, and I'm not going to stop calling myself stupid until I get a good reason why I shouldn't.

I honestly wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. My hatred for myself was running deeper and deeper into my heart. I pitied Vasquez for falling in love with me. I thought Delhoun was blind for thinking I had potential. I sobbed as I ran down the hall, locking myself in a restroom. I was glad I was alone. I was glad no one could hear me scream.

Something was telling me that it was still possible for me to fix all of this. After all, I was still in the hospital. I wasn't that far away from Hudson's room. I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to stop hating myself.

While trying to shove the horrid thoughts out of my head, I left the restroom, walking calmly back toward Hudson's room, shivering with nerves. I cursed aloud when I found the door was closed. And locked.

I grabbed the doorknob, trying to force it open. Looking through the glass, I saw the doctor from earlier was back, and he was holding a needle. Panic began to pulsate throughout my veins as I pounded on the door. "Not yet!" I yelled. "Not yet! I need to talk to him!"

That's when things got bad, and strange. Hudson was still shaking. The doctor was approaching him slowly, and Hudson backed away in the pod he was sitting. He was hunched, shivering, and his lips were pulled back as he snarled.

 _Oh my God, what've they done to him?!_ I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't take my eyes off this.

Hudson continued backing away, cowering in the back of the pod like an animal. The doctor held out his hand, and I could see he was trying to talk to Hudson. I couldn't hear anything he was saying, but I saw Hudson growling at him, before crawling out and getting under the pod.

The doctor jumped back. I saw more silver sweat running off of Hudson in waves. He crawled out from under the pod, getting to his feet and moving aggressively toward the doctor, who was backing toward the desk. He slammed his fist down on the blue button.

For several minutes, I watched Hudson stalk the doctor like an animal. Somehow, his behavior was reminding me of Dakota when she stalked me in the restroom of Delhoun's facility back in Australia. The doctor looked nervous and terrified. Hudson towered over him by a few inches. He was still baring his teeth, and silver saliva was running from his lips. The doctor was either talking to Hudson, or himself. All I could do was watch in horror.

Suddenly, Hudson leapt on top of some machinery. He was looking down at the doctor, who looked like he was searching for somewhere to hide. Hudson glared at him, crawling over wires and tubes to keep watching the doctor. He dropped onto a locker, and stood upright, looking like he was ready to pounce on the doctor and tear his throat out.

Another door in the room burst open. Three figures dressed in security uniforms entered, all carrying tranquilizer guns.

"Up there!" the doctor shouted. "Jesus, what took you so long?!"

One of the figures took aim at Hudson. A heartbeat or two passed, then a loud _bang_ was heard. My heart wrenched when I saw Hudson's limp form fall from where he was perched on the locker. I knew he was asleep, but he fell and tumbled like a corpse. He lay still on the floor, and I could see his chest rising and falling. A dart was sticking out of his left shoulder.

"Thank you," the doctor said. He looked over Hudson. "I'll take care of him. Send for Doctor Hornby." After placing Hudson back in the pod, the doctor glanced over his shoulder, and gave me a confused frown. He gestured to the window. "I don't think we needed any witnesses to that. Contact security to get him out of here."

Oh, this was exactly what I didn't want. "No! _No! Hudson!_ " I pounded on the door again, despite knowing how futile it was. I was fueled by anger and shock and horror. Every emotion I felt when I nearly collapsed on myself was still fresh and pounding hard inside me. I could hear someone paging for security, and slowly, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. "No . . . I just . . ." I balled my fists, frustrated I couldn't help Hudson. "I'm sorry, buddy."


	5. Chapter 5

I heard two pairs of footsteps behind me, and then I looked up to see two armed security guards. "It's time for you to go, Private," one of them said.

"No, you don't understand! I need to get in there! There's something I gotta say-"

"You're banned from the facility until further notice." Both men grabbed me by my arms.

"I'm not leaving until you let me see Hudson!"

"You had your chance to see him."

I growled. "Let go, Goddammit!"

One of them squeezed my arm so hard I screamed. They dragged me all the way back to the lobby, barely reacting whenever I howled and tried to pull away. I swore at them, and even tried to punch one, but his companion continued to tighten his grip to the point where I was crying in pain.

Pushing open the main door, the guards tossed me outside. "For your behavior," one of them said, giving me a cold stare, "you are hereby barred from this facility. Have a good afternoon, Private."

The doors were shut, but that didn't stop me from grabbing a rock and throwing it at the ground in rage. "I'm gonna find whoever hired you two so I can shove my smartgun up their ass! I'll make you sorry!"

I was so busy yelling at them that I didn't even see Delhoun jog up next to me. He stepped back as he watched me kick rocks and angrily slam my fist into the ground. When I did see him, I grabbed his shoulders to shake him. "Why the fuck can't I do anything right?!" I hollered, tears running down my cheeks. "I fucked up! I lost my head in front of Hudson!" I pounded my left fist against Delhoun's shoulder with every word I spoke. " _THIS ISN'T FAIR! I can't do a single fucking thing right! I've left him thinking I'm weak and they're hurting him in there!_ "

Delhoun did nothing while I cried and left snot all over. He waited until I exhausted myself, and then rubbed his shoulder, grunting a little from the pain of me punching him. "Before you hit me further, what happened in there?"

I had to take a few more breaths to calm myself down before I could explain what I saw. I described how Hudson looked, how he looked drained and exhausted. I also described his twitching and shivering before he went completely berserk on the doctor who locked me out of the room.

Delhoun's expression went from one of confusion to mild surprise. It baffled me why he wasn't in shock, but then I watched the surprise morph into shame. Delhoun looked at the ground. "Well, at least I know they're putting my contribution to use."

"What contribution?"

Delhoun looked a little afraid, like I was going to hurt him if he told me. "Hornby . . . has found that Annexer adrenaline and other stress-related hormones work well as a flushing agent for silver flower poison. However, this has . . . some unpleasant side effects, namely, what you just witnessed. It temporarily drives a patient into animalistic behavior."

"Did you know about this?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but then looked at the ground. "Yes."

"But you fucking let them do this."

"No. Hornby read my study on Annexer physiology, and he wanted to know if their adrenaline could be used in medicine. I ran some tests, I told him it's possible, so I gave him some samples of the hormone."

"How do you get this hormone?"

"Simply by brushing an Annexer and collecting their fur. They can secrete it through their pores."

I was torn over what to do. Getting mad at Delhoun for setting this plan in motion seemed like the easiest thing to do, but I knew that wasn't right. He didn't know this was going to happen. "What else will this hormone do?"

"Heightens senses, temporarily. That's all we know of. I'm afraid we're going to learn a lot more with Hornby's work." Delhoun looked ashamed. "Drake, I really am sorry."

I sighed, suddenly feeling drained. "It's not you I'm mad at. I just wish you told me sooner."

"I should have informed you, especially since I was in contact with Hornby over the last three days."

"So, you could've told me about this rather than have me run around D.C. like a madman?"

"You were depressed and angry, Drake. I didn't want you doing anything rash-"

"What happened to you trusting me?" My voice was starting to raise. "After all you've said and done, you don't trust me?!"

"I never said that. I needed you to calm down."

"I would've calmed down if you trusted me with this information!"

Delhoun looked conflicted with himself, like he regretted all of his choices since coming here.

I kept giving him a dirty look. "I'm going to the Pentagon tomorrow about this. You better pray they go easy on you for withholding this information."

* * *

I've basically been sitting and writing ever since we got back to the hotel room. I'm surprised at how much I've gotten down, and how much I still loathe myself, even though I've start to come to grips with all that's happened. Today's experience was a lesson in how much I need to learn to control myself. It was also a lesson that said I needed to not be so cold when it came to people I barely knew, as well as not being such a jerk when it came to people I _do_ know.

This morning, I was crying in the bathroom, upset with myself, feeling like everyone was watching me collapse in myself. Now, I'm sitting up in bed, feeling like I've put a metal case around myself, trying to keep people from seeing that I'm in pain. I've got too much on my mind, and I wish I could alleviate that somehow. I wish knew exactly what to do for each of my problems.

And I wish I wasn't standing in my own way.

I'm up early again because I can't sleep. Instead of repeat nightmares from when I was hovering above death after breathing the toxin of silver flowers, I had a dream where I was standing in front of ICU room 364. The door was locked, and I could see the doctor from yesterday opening the life-support pod where Hudson lay. I became anxious and afraid, and even a little angry. The doctor took the breathing mask and all the electrical patches off of Hudson, and helped him sit up. He looked worse than before-significantly thinner, paler, and more exhausted. At least he wasn't . . . acting like an animal.

"Drake was here, wasn't he?" Hudson asked. "Coulda sworn he was here a minute ago."

"No, he's not here. We had to throw him out," the doctor replied. "He was getting . . . unruly."

"Throw him out?" A trace of the Hudson I've always known was starting to come back. "You can't do that, man! He sounded like he was hurting!"

"I'm sorry, but he was trying to break in the room-"

"That's bullshit, man, he probably changed his mind and wanted to keep talking! Where is he?! _Where is he?!_ "

The dream ended there. I don't know what to think of it. On one hand, I've been afraid my dreams carry meaning. On the other, I feel like I need to tell myself it's just a dream. It didn't happen. It's not a sign of anything.

I'm also awake because shortly after jolting up from that dream, I noticed light spilling in from the windows as Delhoun opened the curtains. Groaning, I put my head back on the pillow. "What the hell, Delhoun?"

"I see you're up bright and early, Drake?" he said. He didn't seem to be bothered about what happened yesterday.

"Did you forget you didn't tell me about what was going on with Hornby?" I said.

"I haven't," Delhoun replied, sitting on his bed. "Today is a new day, and I'm going to go with you to the Pentagon."

"This trip has not been going well," I sighed. "Not going well at all."

Delhoun shrugged. "It can get better."

"I . . . I'm having a hard time . . . trying to control everything going on in my head right now. I told you that I wanted to be thrown out the window. I yelled at you yesterday. I completely fucked up my talk with Hudson." I rubbed my face. "I wish I knew what to do."

"There isn't much I can suggest you do," Delhoun replied. He took a breath. "It sounds like you're taking all of your traumatic experiences very hard."

I groaned. "Delhoun . . . I already told you, I can't be suffering from some kind of problem. I'll get discharged. I'll have nowhere to go. My second chance . . . I can't let that go. I can't fail."

"This isn't anything to be ashamed of, son. It happens. It's not your fault."

"But-"

"Listen to me. You don't have only two chances at life. You can have a third or fourth or fifth chance. Post-traumatic stress isn't something you can just deal with on your own. You need help."

A lump formed in my throat. "I can't just quit!"

"You're not quitting-"

" _Yes, I am!_ "

"No, you're not. Quitting is throwing yourself out the window."

I took a deep breath, processing what Delhoun said. I felt like this is what he's been wanting to tell me for awhile. My insides felt heavy, and my thoughts began flooding my head, like a busted pipe. I didn't feel this way after getting sent to prison. Maybe I gave myself a swift punch in the jaw, knocked myself down, but I got back up. I got back up and I tried to keep going, even though guilt was tagging along like a mangy stray animal.

My thoughts abruptly turned to when we were going to drop over LV-400, to my fear of failure. I had beat myself down again, and I struggled to get back up. I crawled throughout that mission, and then got back up when I was with Delhoun. Then, I beat myself back down when I started having nightmares and tried getting along with Ferro. Again, I crawled. I just kept getting weaker and weaker. I kept telling myself I was never going to get back up, so I kicked myself in the chest, and I'm still laying there.

I have to get back up. I have to.

"Delhoun?" I said.

"Yes? Are you OK?"

"Do you think . . . I can be helped . . . and stay with the Marines?"

Delhoun thought for a moment. He looked down at the floor, then up at the ceiling. "This is all on you, Drake. I've done all I can, but . . . whatever you choose to do, I'll help you as best I can-"

Someone started knocking on the door. I threw the covers off and grabbed a pair of pants. Yanking them up, I quickly walked over to the door, opening it to find a dazed Mathias.

Holding himself up in the doorway, Mathias was drooling white fluid. He looked like he'd seen some shit, and he glanced up at me, struggling to talk. "I . . . I-I-I . . . I've c-come to t-tell you . . . Drake . . ." His knees buckled, and I grabbed him.

"Delhoun?" I said.

"Yeah? What's going on?" Delhoun jogged over to me, gasping when he saw Mathias.

"Do you have your computer? I need you to do a little digging for me. Search Weyland-Yutani's records for android models named 'Mathias.'"

I laid Mathias on my bed, then grabbed a towel to wrap around his neck to catch the white drool. He didn't say anything, and continued to shudder. _There's gotta be something we can do,_ I thought.

"You said the model's name is Mathias?" Delhoun asked, opening his computer.

"Yes."

His eyes never left the computer screen. "OK, here's what I've got: the Mathias model is restricted to both private and public med schools around the globe. It's basically a live-in practice dummy for students in their third year and over."

I frowned. "Is that all?"

"No. A document from a university in D.C. says these androids are made with defects on purpose. They're far more anatomically correct than any other model, but a number of issues are springing up because this is the first real test for these things."

"Like what?"

"Hang on, hang on . . . Ah! This same document says over a hundred androids have been reported to be leaking fluids internally, damaging artificial circulation and memory drives. Some have even been displaying problems with emotional processing, leading to either failure in recognizing emotions in humans or even mimicking similar symptoms to disorders in humans like depression." Delhoun's voice trailed off a little. "Dear God."

"Is there anything we can do here?"

"Well, you can't get it repaired. He likely has a chip in him that states what university and student he belongs to. It's illegal for you to tamper with him."

I gave a frustrated sigh. "How illegal?"

"Up to eight years in prison."

"Yeah, I don't want that. Is there anything at all we can do?"

"Unfortunately, no. I'm sorry. You'll have to contact the police and let them know what's going-"

Mathias grabbed my neck. He started shaking me, squeezing my throat in the process. I took his wrists, trying to pull them off. White fluid was running down the sides of his mouth, and I was reminded of when I was trying to rescue Hudson, how he was choking with spit dripping down the bottom of his cheeks.

"Miss Miranda," he whimpered. "Miss Miranda . . . why'd you leave me outside? What'd I do wrong?"

He was talking nonsense while choking me. I was having a panic attack from the horrid thoughts of lying on the floor while the silver flower toxins flooded my lungs. I was trying to keep breathing, and I couldn't.

The hands suddenly left my throat, and I gasped for breath. Delhoun was holding down Mathias's arms while he continued to whine. I collapsed on the floor, my mind being a little slow in realizing my body wasn't in danger anymore.

"Drake, call the police _now!_ They can deal with malfunctioning androids. I'll keep Mathias here!"

Mathias was struggling against Delhoun while crying. White tears were running down his cheeks, and then he hollered, " _I tried to care! It's not my fault! I'm so sorry!_ " He backhanded Delhoun, forcing himself off the bed, then took a moment to vomit into the trash can between the two beds. Delhoun was reeling from the hit, an ugly red mark blossoming across his pale cheek.

I threw open the door, running into the hallway. Mathias appeared in the doorway, and then charged at me. I sprinted toward the stairs, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage. It was tempting to just shoot him, but I wasn't sure I wanted to face eight years in prison for that. I can get outta here.

Pushing open the door to the stairway, I ran as fast as I could, knowing full well Mathias was behind me. He was saying something about how "Miss Miranda" had cared for him and didn't know why that stopped. I felt all my organs fly up into my throat when I realized I missed a step, and I tumbled down the rest of the stairs. Pain seared through my left ankle as it twisted the wrong way, and I let out a yelp. Laying at the base of the stairs, I looked up to see Mathias glaring down at me, a disturbed look in his eyes.

"My ankle was broken once. The bad woman . . . The bad woman would take me in every week and do something . . . One week, she broke my ankle. Miss Miranda . . . you fixed it. You made it all better." More tears flowed down Mathias's face. "Why'd you abandon me when I needed you most? When all I want is to feel better?"

I pulled myself up, trying not to step on my ankle. Not once did I look back at Mathias. I had to get to the lobby and tell someone I was being chased by a malfunctioning android. My ankle was throbbing, my heart was pounding, and my stomach was tightening. I shoved open the door to the lobby with my shoulder, and almost fell. Scrambling upright was difficult, mainly due to my ankle, but also because I was wearing socks on a waxed floor. I could hear Mathias coming down the stairs, and I slammed shut the door, hoping that would delay him for awhile.

Dash-limping down the hall to the lobby, I began to wonder if this was all just a nightmare, but the pain shooting up and down my leg was all too real for that to be a possibility. People stared at me as I ran into the lobby with no shirt and no boots, and I stopped in front of a security guard.

"What the hell is this?" the guard asked I was catching my breath. "Do you not see the sign? 'No shirt, no shoes-'"

"Sir, there's a damaged android in the hall, just outside the stairway," I said. "He tried to choke me in my room. I need help."

"Alright. Stay with me." The guard pulled a radio link from his belt. "Hey, Sarge? I'm gonna need some extra guys up here in the lobby. Someone said there's a malfunctioning android near the stairway." He looked at me. "What's your name?"

"Mark Drake." I got a chance to look down at my ankle, noting how swollen it was. "You think you can get an ambulance, too? I hurt my left ankle on the way down."

Here's the thing: in any other situation, I would've toughed out the ankle. If I get sent to a hospital, there's a good chance I'll be sent to the same one as Hudson. Maybe I could sneak out and see him.


	6. Chapter 6

In short, I didn't even get sent to a hospital. While the security guards took care of Mathias, the medics put me in the back of the vehicle to look me over. I sat there and felt dumb over the fact that I really thought I'd get driven to the hospital for something as minor as a twisted ankle. The medics were nice guys, though, and offered me a drink on them. As much as I wanted it, I had to decline.

I left the ambulance wearing a bulky brace, and saw the guards and a group of uniformed men dragging Mathias out of the hotel to an armored vehicle parked near the ambulance. Mathias was silent and lifeless, which suggested he was either stunned or deactivated completely. Frankly, I hoped he was going to be OK, because a lot of what he was saying bothered me, even if it was complete nonsense.

Although, it might not be complete nonsense. Part of me wondered who "Miss Miranda" was. Was she the student Mathias was assigned to? Was she still a student? If so, where was she studying? Did she really abandon Mathias? I honestly wanted to find out, but another part of me said that was stupid and deviated too far from the task at hand.

I returned to the hotel room to find a maid changing the sheets on my bed, and Delhoun was in the bathroom, cleaning himself up. After waiting for the maid to leave, I collapsed on the bed. My leg was numb from the painkillers I was given.

Emerging from the bathroom, Delhoun was still drying his hair. He watched me for a moment before going back into the bathroom to hang up his towel. "That was definitely . . . bizarre," he said.

I nodded. "Mathias was taken away. To where, I don't know."

"Somehow, I knew that wasn't going to be the last we saw of him when we first encountered him on the Metro," Delhoun said. "I just didn't think _that_ was going to be how he came back."

"I saw him before I went to find Hudson yesterday morning." I tried sitting up. "He kept saying something about someone named Miranda."

"I could hear him from here. I'm guessing that's whoever he was assigned to."

"Well, hopefully he'll be sent back and fixed. He was talking a lot of nonsense."

"Either nonsense, or perhaps it meant something."

"And it's none of our business now," I added.

Delhoun looked at me, and shrugged. "Maybe."

I sighed. "Alright, when're we heading to the Pentagon?"

"You should rest first."

"Why?"

"Because you were hurt, and I don't think it's a good idea to risk injuring yourself further."

I would never admit he had a point. "Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong." Without saying anything else, I lay back down to get some sleep.

* * *

It was around seven when I next awoke, finding a line of drool on my face and a big patch of it on the pillow. I realized I had been sleeping on my stomach, and became aware of the dull ache in my lower back. Moving onto my back, I remembered that I injured myself that morning, and I was wearing a boot brace on my left foot.

And then I remembered what I said to Delhoun: "Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong." I still think I'm right.

The last three days have been really repetitive, and I hate it. I wake up. I don't want to eat breakfast. Delhoun tries to get me to eat breakfast. I eat without an appetite, which means I barely eat anything, which means I'm starving not too long afterward. I feel bitchy. I hate myself. Some outside influence makes me hate myself even more. Delhoun tries to convince me that everything is OK and that I'm hurting myself internally. We go out to lunch or dinner and do nothing for the rest of the day.

I made it a priority not to make today a repeat of yesterday and the day before. Another heavy feeling started in my chest when I began contemplating exactly how to do that. I didn't want to be hungry, or tired, or angry, or sad. I didn't want to feel a thing.

My thoughts abruptly turned to my conversation with Delhoun this morning, about how I'm likely dealing with post-traumatic stress. I really don't want that stuck to me, and if it's true, I don't want people to find out. I know I'll be discharged from the Marines. I'll be out on the streets with nowhere to go. I'll be a nobody, a man tormented by visions that aren't real.

Not wanting to delve too deep into my thoughts again, I figured I needed to be alone for a few hours. For once, I had no appetite, but I also had no desire to be around people. I felt like there were weights on my shoulders. In an almost paranoid fashion, I looked in a mirror, afraid everything that was wrong with me was written all over my face. Very little relief came from the fact that nothing was there.

Leaving the bathroom, I saw Delhoun was asleep. He certainly couldn't go to the Pentagon by himself, so I guess he figured he'd rest until I felt well enough to go. That, and he had some nasty marks on his face from where Mathias hit him.

I left the room without any money, walking down the hall until I came to an elevator. After pressing the call button, I stepped back, wondering where I was going. As I waited, a man in a rumpled business suit came over. He stopped when he saw the elevator had already been called, and breathed a slight sigh of relief. He looked as though he had a very long day.

Immediately, I tried to appear like nothing was wrong, but as I put on a brave face, the weights on my shoulders became heavier. I had an overwhelming urge to collapse and cry.

The doors opened, and we stepped into the elevator. The man pressed the button for the lobby, and glanced at me. "You're going down to the lobby?"

I nodded.

"Every single day for the last few days or so. Gotta grab a coffee or two and then head on to the conference room for hours on end. We could've had this thing all in one day, but, no. Doctor Madell has to give the students time to wander around. I mean, she could've had the conference over and done with in two days, and save the rest of the week for the sightseeing."

Something clicked in my brain. "Are these . . . students from med school?"

"Yeah. Howard University. It's a very select group, too. Only six students. They could've handled a full-day conference."

"Is there someone in there named Miranda?"

The man nodded. "Miranda Harrison. Why? You know her?"

"I know her android."

"She got rid of it. Not sure why, but she filed in a request for a different one. I just send the papers around the campus. I don't read them."

"Is she staying at this hotel?"

"Yep."

"Can I have her room number?"

"Buddy, do you think I'm going to just give a random stranger the room number of a young college student?"

"Mathias attacked me this morning. I'd like to talk to Miranda about why she ditched him. He was going on and on about how he was abandoned, and that's bothering me. I've been encountering him all over this city. He's clearly broken and I don't think it's good that he wanders around in such a state."

The man took a breath, mulling over his decision. "If I find out you went ahead and hurt one of my students, I'll personally break your other ankle, got it?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone," I said. "What's her room number?"

"Eight-two-four."

"Thanks."

The elevator stopped at the lobby, and the guy turned to face me before getting out. "Remember what I said, buddy. I don't want to get any phone calls about funny business with my students."

"You won't get any phone calls, I promise." I closed the doors, pressing the button to go back up.

* * *

The floor was very quiet as I stepped off the elevator, glancing left and right for room 824. Sure, finding the room was easy, but going up to the door and knocking on it wasn't. Taking a breath, I knocked on the door, and heard someone quickly walk over.

A young woman with long, messy brown hair and large, almond-shaped glasses answered the door. Her face went pale when she saw me, and said, "Who are you?"

"My name's Mark Drake. You're Miranda Harrison, right?"

"Yes, I am." She started slowly closing the door. "Look, I didn't order anything and I don't know who you are. I have to go downstairs in a few minutes, and-"

"I need to talk to you about your android."

"I don't have an android. Please, go away."

"You did have an android. His name's Mathias."

"I'll hit you if you don't leave!"

"Mathias tried to choke me this morning." I grabbed the doorknob, preventing her from closing it. "He's also broken. Pretty badly, I might add. In his fit of absolute madness, he said your name, multiple times, saying how much you cared about him and how he tried to care back."

"My God, why can't you leave?!"

"I'm not leaving till I get some answers outta you! I've dealt with enough shit on this trip, and I'm not putting up with anymore!"

That brought silence from Miranda. She had a look of defeat, and let go of the doorknob. "Why the hell does a broken android matter to you?"

"Well, let's see. As a Marine, I have an android attached to my unit and I have some idea of how they generally behave. I saw Mathias on the Metro a couple of days ago coughing up a storm and I thought, 'Gee, androids aren't supposed to do that. Lemme ask what's wrong.'" I got a lot of really foggy answers from him, and I'd like to know just what the fuck his problem is."

Miranda sighed. "Come inside." She gestured to a chair next to the window. "Sit. You want some hot chocolate?"

"Sure." I was slightly baffled at the fact I managed to make her talk. "So, what happened?"

"Mathias had a lot of problems. That's the simplest answer I can give you," Miranda replied, pouring hot water from a small kettle into two cups full of instant cocoa mix. "A few years ago, someone suggested that the practice dummies used in med school were outdated, and we should move on to more realistic and accurate methods of practicing surgery. What do they decide on? Androids. They had to be very specific, though, because a regular android's innards look nothing like a human's. There was some debate about how its brain should work. We need to put as much emotional and physical and psycho-awareness programming into it as possible, that way students feel like they're working with a real human, and will be less likely to screw up. What'd they do? They took parts from the Bishop models and tried to enhance it."

"And how well did that work out?" I asked, sarcastically.

Miranda shook her head. "They work, but the problem is that androids can't contract infections or get hurt the way humans do. Every week or so, Mathias would be taken out of my campus apartment, damaged in some way, and I had to use my knowledge to fix him. When I first got him, I didn't know what to expect, but I certainly didn't expect him to become so . . . so sad. He'd start to cry in the middle of the night, and then he'd call for me. If I didn't respond quick enough, he'd keep crying. He was always very scared. Even when he was fixed and better, he'd tell me how much he was afraid of the professors coming to take him away and break him. I couldn't do anything about it." She looked down at the small table between us, and I noticed a tear rolling down her right cheek. "It got to a point where I couldn't have people over. Mathias was skittish and I couldn't tell him to stay in his room because he'd spend the whole time crying. I couldn't leave my apartment at night because I'd come home to find him in the bathroom or the living room or the kitchenette or somewhere just lying on the floor and moaning about how lonely he was."

"So you dealt with it by abandoning him?"

"No. I told myself that actual patients could be like this, or even worse, so I sat down with Mathias to just talk to him. When I started doing that, he actually became somewhat calmer. He started trying to care about my well-being also, but whenever he was taken away, things changed. I'd come back to my apartment to find him with either a broken bone or a mimicked infection or a bad cut, and all he wanted was to feel better. That was it.

"Again, he'd be up at all hours, and cried all the time, and . . . when I started dating my ex-boyfriend, Mathias kinda lost it. He was so afraid of being abandoned. No matter how many times I told him I wasn't doing that, he wouldn't stop panicking. Well, I got mad, and I decided to go on a lengthy date. Right after classes got out, I met up with Peter and we went to the movies, we went to dinner, and took a long walk around the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. I returned to my apartment around eleven o'clock and found a lake of white fluid that spread from the living room, down the hall to the linen closet. Mathias was in his room, coughing, and throwing up in a bucket. I didn't want to deal with him. Not again. Not when I had such a wonderful night. I told him to get up and follow me. I told him I was going to make him feel better. I walked outside the campus with him, got a Metro ride to Crystal City, and left him there."

My hot chocolate was lukewarm by the time I noticed it sitting in front of me. Thoughts churning, I picked up my drink and stared at it, occasionally glancing at Miranda. "Do you feel bad about it?"

"In a way, I do. I don't think . . . abandoning him was the best course of action, but, I just couldn't take the sadness and how demanding he was. It was starting to weigh on me and I had a hard time feeling happy because of him. Even when I would sit down to watch TV and there was something really funny on, or when someone told me something happy or funny or anything that would make a person smile, Mathias was always on the back of my mind, and I found it difficult to smile." She looked up at me. "Do you understand that at all?"

I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "Yeah, actually, I do. Lately, I've been dealing with some . . . issues I won't go into detail with, and, yeah, I've been having a hard time feeling happy. Hell, I haven't smiled at all since I got here a few days ago."

"Guess you're not here on vacation, then."

"Well, yes and no. Again, it's not something I'm fond of talking about with people."

"But you barge in here and expect me to tell you my story with Mathias?"

She had a fair point. I adjusted myself in my seat, and cleared my throat. "Since you put it that way, I'll tell you my story. Uh . . . everything starts a long time ago. I got sent to juvenile prison and then joined the Colonial Marines because of their second chance program. It's been a bit of a rough ride; I have a hard time dealing with guilt and shame. I've been blaming myself for a lot of things that've happened that aren't my fault. I'm afraid of failing this second chance, and that's been bothering me ever since my squad went on a mission to LV-400. Everything got worse when I was poisoned by silver flowers. I've been having nightmares and recently, a squadmate was poisoned, and . . . I feel like it's my fault."

Miranda tilted her head a little. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Drake. Mark Drake."

"I'm sorry to hear all that, Drake . . . wait, do you prefer being called 'Drake' because you're in the Marines, or would you rather be called 'Mark'-"

"I really don't care."

"OK, OK." Miranda's cheeks slightly reddened. "Look, I . . . I don't know what I'm going to do about Mathias. Do you know where he is?"

"The hotel's guards took him around eight this morning. All I saw was him being placed in an armored vehicle of some sort. Other than that, I have no idea where he is."

Miranda's face paled as she rubbed it, sighing. "He has a chip in him. They'll probably call the university. They'll need to ask for my permission before . . . before destroying him."

"Jesus, I don't think he should be destroyed. Maybe a memory wipe, or-"

"No. He'll snap out of it once he sees me. All I have to do is talk to him, convince him th-that I'm going to make him better." Her lower lip quivered, and she covered her face with both hands. "Unless he really thinks that I've ditched him for good."

I shrugged. "I can't help you there. Wish I could, though."

Glancing at a clock, Miranda stood up, grabbing a jacket laying on her bed. "I have to get going. Could you . . . let me know if you find anything regarding where Mathias is?"

"I don't know how to reach you."

"Well, you know where my room is. That's good enough."

"Where are you going to be tonight?"

"Conference room D. After seven-thirty, I'm going to be in Chinatown." She opened the door, gesturing for me to leave first.

"Got it," I said as I left the room. "I'll see what I can do."

Miranda didn't say anything more as she watched me walk away. She closed her door, and we found we were going in the same direction. I pretended to ignore her as I stepped in a waiting elevator, pressing the lobby button, leaning against the wall as Miranda stepped in as well. She definitely seemed mildly annoyed by me, and why not? I kinda did barge into her room and demanded to know about what Mathias said to me.

The elevator stopped so more people could get on. Miranda was pushed closer to me. I moved closer to the corner, my mind starting to dig around itself, uncovering the horrid thoughts and memories I was having earlier. The claustrophobia of the elevator was making it difficult to breathe, but I tried to keep a straight face. No one in here was to know that I was in pain.

I suffered in complete silence for the ride down to the lobby. I felt like a band was being tightened around my ribcage, but I kept my head down, trying to push myself through it. _It's all in your head. You're not actually suffocating. You'll be OK. Stop thinking so hard. Don't let this control you._

The doors opened, and the people walked out, all going in their separate directions. Miranda glanced at me, and then started jogging away. God only knows what she saw when she looked at me. Did I successfully hide that I was suffering, or was it out there in plain sight? I don't think I'll ever find out. Given what I know, I don't think Miranda wants to see me again. I don't think she wants to see Mathias again. I think she's like me in the fact that she wants to keep running away from her problems, only to have them catch up to her and swallow her whole, making it more and more difficult to deal with them properly before they take such a toll on her mind that her condition will have a name.


	7. Chapter 7

As I ate a light dinner in the lobby, I started to think that I should've told Delhoun where I was going and what I was doing. I mean, he probably figured I needed to step outside and breathe, but he was likely wondering where I was, and I felt bad that I didn't tell him what I was doing. After all, I had originally left because I was in a bad mood, and I just wanted to be alone.

I figured I should go back upstairs and tell Delhoun, but I was actually enjoying my time alone.

Even though I didn't have much time alone.

I was about to finish my second cup of coffee for the day when I heard someone say, "Private Drake?" and Doctor Hornby nervously approached me. "Ah, g-good . . . good evening, Drake. I see you're looking far healthier than when I last saw you."

My stomach turned awkwardly, like it was trying to hold down the rage I felt about what Hornby and his team were doing to Hudson. "I . . . Yeah, I feel a lot better, too."

"I didn't expect to see you here. Was your unit transferred?"

"N-No. Since I can't go in hypersleep, I've been . . . sent here for a small vacation. Command thought it would be good for me."

"Well, even I would've told you some time away from work would be beneficial. Speaking of that, I think you'd appreciate some news on Hudson."

"Is it good or bad?" I tried to act like I didn't know, not wanting Hornby to get suspicious. Then again, a part of me wondered if he had been told about me getting thrown out of the hospital. He certainly wasn't acting like he knew.

"Both. The good news is, he's no longer in life support and we're starting physical therapy. The bad news is, he won't be returning to his unit for another few days or so."

"And why is that?"

Hornby adjusted himself in his seat. "It's a precaution. One of the nurses turned the air conditioner on in that room for the last day or so, and I'm worried toxic discharge may've set in for Hudson. It's nothing major."

Right then and there, I knew damn well something was wrong. "What's the physical therapy going to be like?"

"A lot of it is breathing exercises to strengthen his respiratory system. Much of it is experimental, considering this isn't something that's been done before."

"When can I see him?"

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because we're trying to . . . provide as minimal distraction as possible. Focus on recovery."

I bit my lip, struggling to keep from calling bullshit. Did Hornby really not know I had seen Hudson, or was he playing the biggest game of dumb in the world? "Fine," I replied. "Let me know when it's OK to see him."

"I certainly will." Hornby stood up, leaving the bar rather quickly.

I had a really bad feeling in my gut about all this. One way or another, I was going to get Hudson out of there, and I didn't need Hornby's permission to do that.

* * *

The sun had set completely by the time I finished with dinner. I knew I wasn't getting into the Pentagon at this point in time, but I wasn't sure I wanted to wait.

Yet, I still had a part of me telling me I needed to be patient. Hornby might already know what we're up to, and I was starting to wonder if Delhoun had said anything.

I decided to just head back up to the hotel room and ask, but I felt like asking would just tell Delhoun that I didn't trust him, when I know I do trust him. At the same time, I know Delhoun and Hornby know each other somewhat personally. He may have said something to Hornby to keep him from getting suspicious.

The part of me saying to be patient had won over. I got in the elevator, looking up to see the mirror ceiling. I spent the whole ride staring at my reflection, thinking about what Delhoun had told me that morning.

I don't doubt that PTSD is serious. I don't doubt that what happened to me on Gateway was traumatic. After all, I nearly died. I can still remember the doctors saying that they were losing me at one point. I can remember . . . all sorts of horrible feelings inside my chest. My heart struggling. My lungs struggling. I really was inching closer and closer to death.

If I had something to go back to, maybe I'd be more willing to get help. I just don't know what could happen to me if I even ask. Would they send me back to prison? Probably not. I can't imagine being sent back to prison would improve my mental health. Hell, even the prison officials wouldn't want me in there.

So, what would they do to me? Would my sentence become null and void? Would I be considered a danger to myself and others? Would they put me in a different facility, or would they toss me in the streets to fend for myself?

To be honest, I wouldn't be against that. I probably deserve it. I don't deserve any financial assistance. I'm a murderer. I stole a car. Why anyone would want to see me get help to live on my own is beyond my comprehension.

The elevator stopped. I continued staring up at my reflection as the doors opened, then stepped out.

I looked to my left to see a wide window, offering a view to part of the city. There were a few couches and chairs facing the windows. I sat in one of the chairs, enjoying the quiet. I could hear TVs and voices coming from the rooms, but nothing loud or obnoxious. It was a gentle murmur, an ambience. The hall wasn't too warm or cold, and I could hear air conditioners running in some of the rooms.

I looked out the window, and then dragged my chair forward to rest my elbows on the big windowsill. I could hear car horns, I could see all the lights, and damn was it pretty.

Remember how I wrote that I'd never be able to stay in a five-star hotel? I realized I proved myself wrong. Now, I don't know if this place is five stars exactly, but I wouldn't rank it lower than four. It's nice. Especially for someone like me.

My ears pricked when I heard an elevator arrive, and I looked over my shoulder to see Miranda Harrison. What a coincidence. "Hey," I said. "Fancy seeing you again."

She looked tired. "Decided not to go to Chinatown," she sighed. "Just . . . tomorrow. The meeting's earlier." She flopped down in one of the chairs next to me.

"Did you get something to eat?" I asked.

"Had a sandwich before coming up." She looked at me. "Did you find anything on Mathias?"

"No. Sorry."

Miranda sighed again. "So . . . what are we doing?"

"I'm just sitting here and enjoying the peace and quiet." I shrugged.

"Easy for you to do."

I gave her a lopsided smirk. "Not necessarily." I went back to staring out the window. "Never really had this kind of . . . serenity before."

"I won't get serenity for another year. That's when I graduate."

"You're a doctor, though. Can't imagine that's going to be an easy career."

"It's not."

I grinned. "At least you're nice. My unit's medtech is a living flame from hell. Meaner than any drill sergeant."

"Is she actually mean, or is she just tough on you?"

"Oh, no, she's actually mean. She'll yell at you for pretty minor things, and she's not at all friendly. She just . . . does what she needs to do, and then doesn't interact with anyone." I fell silent for a moment. "Kinda like me."

Miranda shrugged. "You're not that bad, Mark."

I glanced at her, a little surprised given no one's called me by my first name in years. "No one's as bad as Dietrich." Despite that, I did miss her. She is still a good medtech. You know, when she's not telling me I'm ugly.

"I also meant . . . well . . . I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I should've just listened to you first."

"Frankly, I'd be pissy, too, if someone barged into my room like I did with you. I don't blame you for being upset." I adjusted the way I was sitting. "I do promise that I'll be searching for Mathias tomorrow."

"Thanks."

The conversation stopped, and I could feel Miranda staring at me. She quickly looked away when I turned to face her, then I went back to looking out the window. I wondered what she was thinking, but I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound like I was intruding on her thoughts.

I ended up half-dozing for a few minutes, but perked up when I heard someone stand. Miranda looked liked she was headed toward me, but turned when she saw my head lift. "Whatcha doing?" I asked.

"N-Nothing. Just . . . heading back to my room."

 _That is not what I just saw._ "Want someone to walk with you? Just for company?" I asked.

"Sure. I mean . . . it's been awhile since anyone offered. I'm just down the hall, but . . ." Miranda paused, looking at the floor. "Thanks, Mark."

"No problem. You . . . You look overwhelmed, and . . . I'd be happy to help."

"Thanks. Would you . . . actually, no, I can't."

"Can't what?"

"I . . . have to just shower and go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow and . . . do more stuff related to this stupid trip."

I was a little baffled at how quick and unspecific she was, but I figured it was due to how stressed she was. Then again, I needed to get the idea out of my head that she was somehow connected to Hornby's mess.

Was she? Come on, there's no way she is.

* * *

I returned to my room to find a note from Delhoun saying he had gone out for the night to get some air and be alone. I couldn't blame him for that. Anyone who spends even a little bit of time with me is going to be wanting alone-time afterward.

That evening was normal. I showered, watched an old movie on TV, and fell asleep. In the morning, I saw Delhoun asleep in the other bed, so at least I know he had gotten back OK.

I knew getting to the Pentagon was my first priority, and I was torn about waking up Delhoun. However, I figured it was best to just leave him alone and prove I can do this on my own.

I got dressed and headed down to the mall. As I left the tunnel between the hotel lobby and the first part of the mall, I spotted a familiar figure standing at a clothes rack outside a shop. Miranda Harrison was absentmindedly browsing through summer shirts. Her purse was hanging open, and a file likely containing documents from her conference was jutting out awkwardly, like it didn't belong there.

I kinda felt like an absolute failure for not getting information on Mathias, but something was still compelling me to go over and just talk to her. Before I could say anything, Miranda took a shirt from the rack and held it to her body. "Mark, you're a guy . . . would this look attractive?"

I was confused, but that was probably because I had no fuel in me at the moment, not to mention I'm not used to be referred to by my first name. And I'm being asked by a strange girl whether or not she's attractive when I'm already in a relationship. "Um, sure. It looks OK."

Heavily sighing, Miranda put the shirt back. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"I just came to say 'hey,' and 'good morning,' I guess," I said, trying to avoid an awkward silence.

"So, nothing on Mathias?"

"Nothing."

Miranda gave a heavy sigh. "Nothing?!"

I was a bit taken aback by her reaction. "Nothing. Let me explain . . . I'm here because I'm trying to see a comrade in the hospital. He was poisoned by silver flowers a few days ago-"

"No, no, no, no, not here! Not here!" Miranda grabbed my arm, dragging me to a corridor devoid of people. "You said silver flowers?" she whispered.

I nodded.

"That's what our conference has been about! Some guy called Hornby has been submitting research and he's trying to convince Doctor Madell that we should incorporate these flowers into our curriculum! W-What's your comrade's name?"

"Hudson. Private William Hudson."

"Oh my God . . ." Miranda put her hands to her face. "They've been doing experiments on him, and they don't want anyone interfering. Mark, I'm so sorry-" She glanced to her right, seeing someone in a Weyland-Yutani lab uniform walking toward us. It was unlikely they were looking for anything suspicious, but Miranda abruptly grabbed me and kissed me.

I was undoubtedly stunned, but somehow I knew she was trying to make us look like we were just a couple of dumbasses sharing a moment so no one looked at us funny. At the same time, her behavior from earlier suggested she was having a rough time that day, and could use some form of relief. Plus, she did have a little over several hours to think about me. I guess I could forgive her for developing a crush on me, if that was the case, and I felt bad that I was gonna have to break her heart, because my heart belonged to somebody else. Besides, can you imagine if Vasquez found out someone was trying to win me over? That wouldn't be very pretty.

The man in the uniform passed by us, and Miranda let go of me. Her face was deep red from embarrassment, and wetness rimmed her eyes. She looked panicked, afraid of what I might be thinking, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was here on a mission and had no time for something as petty as this. My mind was in a hundred different places, and it seemed to be fighting with the present demands of my body. I knew I needed to get food in me soon, but I felt locked here, like I couldn't do anything important until the air between me and Miranda was cleared.

"So, was that just to make sure the guy walking by didn't think we were suspicious, or is there something else going on?" I asked.

"Your first answer," Miranda replied. "That . . . probably wasn't the right thing to do, and . . . I'm so, so sorry. It was . . . I've been . . . very . . ."

"Stressed? I can see that." I folded my arms over my chest. "Look, the guy's gone. As I was saying, because Doctor Hornby probably doesn't want me interfering with his experiments, I was thrown out of the hospital. I saw what they were doing to Hudson. They're giving him Annexer hormones, and it . . . it turns him into, I dunno, basically a werewolf. Someone has to do something, and I'm under strict orders not to do it myself. I have to go to the Pentagon."

Miranda sighed. "Well, I appreciate you being honest. I mean, I know that Mathias went berserk and tried to choke you, but I think I should handle this. You've done enough. I'm sorry you had to go through . . . through all this."

"It's fine. No, really, it is. Don't be sorry. I made a promise that I'd help find Mathias, and I'm going to keep that. I'll find you when I get some information." I turned around, heading in the direction of the hotel lobby.

"Mark, wait!"

I looked over my shoulder, giving Miranda a confused look. "What?"

"Would you be upset if I offered to buy you breakfast?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't mind. Why're you offering in the first place?"

"Just . . . as a thank-you for all you're doing." Her voice trailed off, like she wanted to add something to that sentence.

"I don't need any thank-yous. Besides, I haven't even done anything."

"Please, Mark, take it."

I sighed. "Oh, all-fucking-right, if it makes you feel better."

A weak smile crossed over Miranda's face. It did nothing to cover up the fact that she was incredibly anxious and upset over something. After all, I was still partly a stranger to her, but she was trying to act like I was a friend that had known her for some time. As I stood in line to get my breakfast at a café near the Metro stairway, I thought back to the conversation I had with Miranda the day before. She mentioned that Mathias made it difficult for her to have people over at her campus apartment, and I clearly remember her saying that she had a boyfriend, referring to him as an ex. I was guessing that she had slowly lost contact with people since abandoning Mathias, and was desperate to regain that.

Then again, it was only a guess. I didn't want to bring it up.

I sat down across from Miranda, by a window. She seemed to have calmed down a little, but was staring at the Styrofoam cup of coffee and a plastic cup of yogurt with granola in front of her, stirring it slowly with a spoon. The file of documents was on the table. Every paper was folded or crinkled in some way, and on the file itself were the words, " _Complete by six tonight!_ " in red ink.

"Did Mathias ever help you with assignments?" I asked.

"When he . . . felt OK, he did. I still don't know if that's legal or not, but he would . . . he would try to help. Help's a broad term, though; even just getting a cup of tea or something small for dinner counted as help. I even trusted him with grocery shopping sometimes." Miranda pushed the yogurt away. "You're probably starving. You can have that."

I shook my head. "I'm good with what I have."

"Fine. Yes, I'd get help from Mathias. Sometimes. It was rare. Most of the time, he prevented me from getting work done because he was crying all the time, and then I'd have to sit with him for an hour." Miranda shrugged before slapping the table. "I just-I just don't get any kind of time for myself. None! None, whatsoever. I hate this college. I hate my job. I hate the fact that I still have over a year before I can get my fucking degree and leave Doctor Madell and her stupid guinea pig projects. I hate the fact that I've drifted apart from my friends in high school and can't keep any friends in college. I've been dumped by two guys; one because of Mathias, and the other because I couldn't find time to spend with him."

"I can understand. I've been having a hard time with friends as well. A lot of it stems from the fact that I bottle up my frustration, and . . . it sounds like you're doing the same thing."

"What?"

"Bottling up your emotions."

"Oh, I know. What am I supposed to do about it, Mark? Do I look like I have the time to go in my room and cry or see a counselor or something?"

"Well, you're sitting here talking to me. That's better than nothing. Do you think that I'm not listening? Believe me, I'm listening, and I feel bad. I know how it feels to be under the impression that no one is listening. The truth is, there are people who listen. It's difficult to pull that veil off your mind, but, understand that it's true. I've got people who listen to me, and I still struggle with feeling like I'm successfully communicating my emotions. Trust me, it's easier said than done. I'm only saying that because it's something that I need to learn as well. I'm not trying to make myself look better or look like I'm control, because I'm not. I feel like shit, too."

Miranda's eyes were glinting with tears. She looked down at the table before glancing at me. "So, you're listening? This whole time, including yesterday, you've been listening?"

I nodded.

She smiled again, with tears rolling down both cheeks. "I don't know what to say. Dear God, and we just met, too. You . . . I'm sorry." She rubbed her face. "Look, if you want to keep searching for Mathias, that's fine. I don't know how to feel about . . . whether or not I should take him back in."

"I think you should take him back in," I replied. "Admit it; you feel guilty about abandoning him, right?"

"In a way-"

"You don't want to see him get destroyed, do you? I can't take him in. My squad's already got an android, and we all appreciate the fact that he doesn't throw up every few minutes."

"Let me think about it, Mark. Don't force me into making a decision. Listen-" Miranda leaned in to whisper to me, "Today, the students from the university are going down to the hospital to see Hornby's research. How about we meet up for dinner and I'll tell you about what I see?"

"You do that and I get information on Mathias?" I figured having a witness would boost my case when I go to the Pentagon. Only now was I willing to wait again.

"Sure, whatever you want."

"Great. I'll see you tonight." I picked up the remainders of my breakfast and was about to stand up when Miranda took my wrist.

"Mark?" she said softly. "I'm sorry I kissed you. It . . . was very wrong, and I sh-should've thought the situation better, and I didn't, so I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," I replied. "Shocked, but not mad." I gave her a wide smirk, and I was about to say something regarding how Vasquez wouldn't find out, but I decided to have a little bit of fun with Miranda before telling her the truth. "It wasn't a bad kiss. At least you had experience with two other people beforehand."

Miranda watched me leave while her face gradually got redder.


	8. Chapter 8

As I headed up to my room, I wondered if Delhoun was going to be awake, and I was prepared to explain everything to him if he gave me a hard time about not taking care of going to the Pentagon today.

In the elevator, I felt my brain crash. I went from being very social to curling up in a ball inside my head. I went from trying to help someone to focusing on my pain, physical and mental. Every single painful thought came down on me like a bag of bricks.

The ride up to my floor was taking forever. I wanted to bang my head against the wall and cry at the same time. The things that change once you're alone. It fucking sucks. I wished I could still contemplate Delhoun and Mathias and Hudson and Miranda and Vasquez and my squad, but, here I was, thinking about how much I was hurting. _You're very selfish, Drake,_ that annoying voice in my head said. _Thinking about your own pain when you've caused pain to so many other people. Grow yourself a heart, damn you._

There was a _ding_ , and the elevator doors opened. A dull ache started in my chest as I walked out, and I let my exhaustion control me. When I found my room, I slid the key into the door, and then pushed it open.

Delhoun was sitting upright in bed, flipping through the TV channels. "Good morning, Drake," he said. "Already had breakfast?"

"Yeah," I said. "Found out who owns Mathias yesterday."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Med student by the name of Miranda Harrison. She dumped him outside because he was getting to be . . . a bit much."

"Ah. Does this mean you're not going to bother with Mathias anymore?"

"No. I'm going to help both him and Miranda."

Delhoun gave me a confused look, but then smiled. He didn't say why, but I got the impression that he was glad that I was taking an initiative in helping people, especially after my outbursts over the last few days. "Would you like any assistance with this?"

"No," I said. "I also found out Miranda's part of a group of med students here to study the silver flower."

Delhoun frowned. "You're kidding."

I shook my head. "She agreed to help me get information on Hudson if I find where Mathias is."

"If they're studying the silver flower, then they must be studying Hudson as well."

"I think she could be a witness. We'd need to take her with us to the Pentagon if she sees the same things I saw a couple days ago."

"The only issue with that is Hornby may try to cover up the more horrific parts of his project. Miss Harrison might not see anything damning at all."

"Doesn't matter. They're treating Hudson like a guinea pig. Besides, if they're using that . . . Annexer hormone shit, then he could suddenly go wild while all these students are watching him." A sudden chill shot down my spine. "What if he hurts one of them? Could he be shot?"

"The USCM would have Hornby's ass in a heartbeat. His career would be flushed and he could spend decades in prison for that. Knowing him, he won't take that risk. Hornby probably knows about the students and won't give Hudson that medication."

"I still think it won't be difficult to see that Hudson's being hurt by this."

"We won't know until Miss Harrison tells you what she sees. When are you next seeing her?"

"Tonight."

"I wouldn't be too anxious, then. She'll see what she sees today, and you'll be able to ask her tonight." Delhoun shrugged.

I sighed. "Just wish I didn't have to wait so long. I should be at the Pentagon _right now_."

"Patience," Delhoun said. "Relax. Tell you what; let's split up and search the city for Mathias. There are probably a lot of android repair stations around here."

* * *

I wandered the city for a few hours, hunting for repair stations and asking at each if they had tended to a university android. With no luck, or even any leads, I decided to go back to the hotel room and sleep until I had to go meet Miranda. It was around noon when I fell asleep, and I woke up at around five PM. Sitting up, I saw Delhoun hadn't returned, so I decided to write in my journal with the television on for background noise.

After I wrapped up my entry, I turned off the television and tried to sleep. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I saw myself walking onto a beach. The tide was calm, and there was no wind. The palm trees were still; you couldn't hear a rustle if you tried. There wasn't even the sound of the water against the shore.

At first, I thought it was peaceful, but then my heart began racing. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to civilization.

Something wet fell on my left cheek. I thought it was just rain, but when I touched my face, my fingers came away covered in a thin silver fluid. Slowly, I looked up, seeing a lifeless Hudson trapped within the branches of the trees. The silver fluid had coated every surface he was touching. Every cut was spilling silver. The lack of real blood made the exposed flesh look a sickly, pale pink color. I tried to get Hudson down from the tree by first pulling a branch out of the way. I was greeted by more silver fluid, and what appeared to be the entire skin and muscular layer completely torn from Hudson's torso. I could see the throbbing and pulsating of his heart, and the sight of it _moving_ was making me ill. I wanted to cover it back up, go find help, but then I heard a weak gasp.

"Drake . . . d-don't . . . d-don't bother . . ." Silver liquid poured from Hudson's mouth.

I watched as the fluid flowed like blood throughout his exposed innards. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't. What could I do? Powerlessness and failure made me feel even more sick. All I could do was watch this . . . this horrific scene play out. Was I watching him die? Or just suffer? Either way, I felt like I was being tormented with the fact that I could do nothing to help him. Nothing at all.

* * *

I did stay in the hotel room until I really needed to get my butt up and head to the mall to get some nice clothes for my "date" with Miranda.

Shortly after five-thirty, Delhoun returned with some good news; he found Mathias at a repair station way out in Rosslyn. Right on time-I'd be able to tell Miranda. Delhoun certainly couldn't take Mathias because he didn't belong to him. Plus, I'm thankful Delhoun didn't insist on coming along to this "date."

Delhoun knows about Vasquez. I'm a little surprised he didn't bring that up, but I think it's because Miranda doesn't know, and I should keep up the "single" façade in order to get as much help from her as possible. I know it's wrong, it's dishonest, and it's bordering on heartless, but if it means I can help Hudson, I'll do anything. That nightmare I had was pushing me to my limit of how long I can wait to get help for him.

I had a few hours, so I went down to the mall to look for clothing that was nice, but wasn't going to wreck my budget. It was at that point that I realized I've basically been wearing the same thing for the last several years. I felt like that symbolized how little things have changed for me, how I feel stuck.

Jesus, who knew shopping for clothes could become so depressing.

I stood in a changing room wearing a pale-blue polo shirt, staring at myself in a mirror. Without my cap, I looked . . . very human. Very normal. Would I be dressing like this regularly if I didn't get in trouble so long ago? Sighing heavily, I took the shirt off, and tried on a black shirt. I smirked a little when I remembered hearing somewhere that dark colors make you look thinner. I honestly don't need to look thinner, although I don't know what Miranda would prefer I look like. It probably doesn't matter, because she seemed to like me the way I was. Again, though, I need to be the best I can be if I'm going to get assistance with Hudson.

Maybe I am slowly turning into some sort of spy. Self-made, that is.

I left the store with a gray polo shirt and black cargo shorts. I still had a lot of time before dinner, so I wandered the underground of Crystal City. The deeper you went, the more you realized that a person could actually live down here and never set foot outside. I was impressed by how much was down there. There's even a library.

When I passed the library, though, I spotted a man in a lab coat talking to the guy that had walked by me and Miranda yesterday. Out of curiosity, I paused by a pet shop, pretending to by amazed by the baby bunnies while listening to the conversation between the two men.

". . . No, no one has to worry about Drake. He got a warning a few days ago. I don't think he'll get near the hospital again," the man in the lab coat said.

"Why is Hornby so concerned with a lowly Marine private anyway?" the other man replied.

"Because Drake was exposed to the silver flower toxin last month. He knows what it's like. He remembers that pain and probably doesn't want Hudson to experience it. Not to mention, Hornby said that it appears as though Drake might be aware of what's going on with Hudson."

"Oh, dear God, he has no reason to be so secretive about this. He ran some tests. He has a good enough paper to submit-"

"Hornby's mission is to convince Weyland-Yutani that the silver flower is more effective than you-know-what. That's not an easy thing to do. Frankly . . . I'd rather see them use the flower. It's a damn _flower_ , after all. It doesn't require humans to keep its species going."

"I don't think getting that batty old woman from the university is going to help him."

"Doctor Madell is highly respected. She's implemented a number of successful programs at her college. If Hornby's plan works with her, that'll surely convince the company higher-ups. I've got to go catch the train to Arlington. We can talk more tomorrow."

When the guy in the lab coat left, I ducked into the pet store. I was disappointed that I learned nothing new from that conversation. Hopefully, Miranda will provide me with more information during dinner.

* * *

I definitely felt overdressed when I saw Miranda waving to me as I rounded a corner back to the center hub of the mall. She was just wearing jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. I told myself not to care, but I also didn't want to look like a try-hard.

I half-expected Miranda to bring me to a place outside the mall, but she didn't. Instead, we went to a restaurant in the mall, which wasn't exactly fancy. It was definitely a comfort-food place. We were greeted with music and the smell of things frying and the sounds of people laughing. It was just a regular place for regular people, something I wish I was.

We sat at a booth with the bar behind us. Miranda hadn't said a word to me since seeing me, and gave me a nervous smile. "I hope this isn't . . . bad," she said.

I shook my head. "It's fine. I kinda like it, actually."

"Good. I like coming here now and then. It's such a different atmosphere compared some of the eateries around the college. It's a lot more friendly."

"Ah." I looked over my shoulder. "Would you mind if I got something from the bar?"

"Go ahead."

I stood up, turning around to face the bar. I glanced at Miranda, then looked at the guy behind the counter. After getting myself a bottle of whiskey, I again glanced at Miranda, before turning to the bartender and saying, "Can I have a small piña colada, too? Go extra light on the rum."

I carried both drinks back to the table, noting Miranda's surprise when I slid the piña colada in front of her. She looked at me, blushing deeply, and said, "Mark, I didn't want anything."

"It's just a nice gesture," I replied, shrugging. "Come on, you got me breakfast this morning, so I figured it was my turn to do something nice for you."

Miranda thought about that for a minute, then pulled the glass closer to her. "Well . . . thank you. I appreciate it."

We read through the menus quietly, despite how badly I wanted to talk about Hudson. I didn't want to blow through the evening too quickly, and I don't think Miranda did either. She was looking at me more than she was looking at her menu, almost like she was expecting me to start a conversation.

"So . . . how are you?" Miranda asked. Her blush hadn't faded at all.

"Good. You?" I replied.

"Well . . . I'm good . . . now that I'm having a normal interaction with someone. The lab was . . . a bit terrifying."

I set my drink down. "How so?"

Miranda gave me a look. "'How so?' I watched a man cry and scream today."

"Hudson?"

Miranda nodded. "We took a bus to the hospital, met Doctor Hornby, and he took us up to the lab where your friend's being kept. It . . . It really was scary, to be honest. I've been in a lot of laboratories, but this one wasn't like any other I've seen."

A tightening sensation spread from my chest to my stomach. "What was going on?"

"Well, Hornby was in the middle of seeing what the toxin does when the air temperature is raised. Hudson was just lying on the floor, so exhausted that he couldn't move. We walk into the lab, and Hornby looked kind of embarrassed at what was going on, so he tried to get Hudson up. I mean, we're all med students, and we could tell that this poor guy was dehydrated. I wanted to say something, and the others wanted to say something, but we didn't, because we knew that this wasn't our place. Anyway, Hudson looked very much like death warmed over. I've seen Mathias in pitiful states, but none of them were like this. He looked like someone put a tube on his face and sucked out his cheeks and pushed his eyeballs deep into their sockets."

"Is Hornby starving him?"

"Yes and no. Hornby did deprive him of food for twelve hours, but then Hudson decided to call a hunger strike out of delirium from a fever."

"Is he suffering from toxic discharge?"

Miranda shook her head. "Nope."

I sighed. "So, Hornby fucking lied to me. He told me that Hudson was being kept for observation because they thought he developed toxic discharge."

"Well, if you want the full extent of what they're doing-" Miranda pulled a file from her purse, slapping it in front of me.

I almost choked on my whiskey when I read through the first document. "They . . . deliberately induced bacterial infections? 'Tests involving UTI and sinusitis provided substantial results: subject's exposure to metallic flower resulted in lowered immune response, increased emotional outbursts. Fever was higher compared to average cases. Subject frequently complained of headache and chest pain. Unable to keep solid food down. Electrolytes needed to be replenished more often. Subject experienced insomnia, and heightened brainwave activity during REM sleep. Claimed to be having nightmares, and wanted to leave the lab.'" I rubbed my face, a heavy feeling settling in my heart. "I have to get him out of there. Did you see anything . . . involving Annexer hormones in his treatment?"

Miranda shook her head. "No. I saw the documents, but they were closely guarded."

I continued to flip through the documents Miranda had managed to get. "Did anyone . . . talk to Hudson?"

"No. He was begging for help, though." Miranda sighed. "It reminded me so much of Mathias that I'm surprised I didn't leave the room in tears. Just . . . that need to feel better, feel normal was so palpable that . . . that I wish I could've done something."

"I get it," I replied. "Speaking of Mathias, I know where he is."

"Really?" Miranda's expression changed to one of shock.

"He's at an android service station in Rosslyn. Civilian, not company or military."

"Oh my God. D-Did-Did you get the name of it?"

"No. I wish I did. Hey, at least you know where it is. It's not that long of a ride on the Metro. I would just look around and go to each station until you find him." I shrugged. "That's all I got. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry, Mark, that's . . . that was enough information for me. I know what to do." Miranda gave another sigh. "Let's . . . Let's talk about . . . something else."

"Alright." I set the whiskey bottle down, and made the worst possible choice for something else to talk about. "What's your honest-to-God opinion on me?"

Miranda's blush deepened further. "What?"

"What do you think of me? You know, as a person. I was wondering because even though you seemed annoyed by me when I wanted to talk to you about Mathias yesterday, you were beginning to enjoy my company. Besides, what other reason would you have to buy me breakfast _and_ dinner?" I smirked.

"I think you're . . . you're . . . you . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she was looking me up and down. "I think you're . . . you're . . . handsome, I guess. Wait, did you mean, what I think of you physically, or your personality?"

"Either."

"OK, OK, well, yeah, I think you're . . . handsome. I do like that polo you're wearing. It fits your figure nicely." Miranda smiled, and adjusted her glasses.

"Alright. Now, what do you think of me, personality-wise?"

"I think you're decent. I'm still surprised at how . . . emotionally open you are. You seem like you know what you're doing when you talk to people. You're not very extroverted, but you're not exactly introverted, either."

"Well, the truth is that I'm not emotionally open. I think the reason you think that is because when we met, we weren't just two people passing in the street. I was actually looking for you because your damn android went bonkers. I guess it depends on the circumstances."

"Yeah. Most people take their time with getting to know someone-"

"I barged into your hotel room because I wanted information."

A weak smile crossed Miranda's face, but she wasn't making eye contact with me. She definitely seemed conflicted about this, and I felt bad considering I wasn't really replicating any of the feelings she had for me. I guess I wouldn't feel so much like a heartless bastard if she wasn't having such a tough time in her life, and I've forgotten a lot of the old tactics I used when I was known as an indiscriminate flirt in high school. Yeah, I was a totally different person, then. I wasn't "bad." I just wanted to have fun, so I would harmlessly flirt with every type of girl in my grade. You might be wondering how I changed. Well, two things: one was the fact that I got sent to prison, and the other was my earliest encounter with real, hard-hitting guilt. Flirting with "every type of girl" meant I went after the quiet and shy ones, too. They're a completely different ballgame. Words are not enough to make them look at you. If you want their attention, you have to acknowledge the fact that they're quiet and shy, because disrespecting that boundary means they'll go to great lengths to avoid you, and your game is over.

Many of them have hobbies that they care about far more than interacting with people. One of the more common ones I noticed was reading, so I would offer a comment on whatever it was they were reading. Once you do that, you're almost there. However, the thing about quiet people is that they are very, very loyal when you show them the right amount of respect and interest in their lives. Breaking up with them (especially if you're going on to flirt with a party animal), hurts. It hurts them pretty bad, and it'll hurt you, because you feel like garbage for doing that to them. I can remember at the end of my sophomore year when I ditched a shy girl in order to take advantage of juniors looking for prom dates. Needless to say, it didn't take long for me to see that I was being made out to be a horrible person by a lot of other students. Guilt set in, and I started to rethink myself, something that I'm still doing.

I'd never think that my stupidity from high school would be one of the many things effecting me to this day. Most people look back at their school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm so glad I changed. I'm living a happy life." I, on the other hand, look back on my school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm still an idiot. I'm not living a happy life. Every stupid thing I do is haunting me."

Alright, I shouldn't be wasting paper on how stupid I was in high school. Anyway, even though I felt bad about Miranda, I was just happy that I already had Vasquez. She'd probably understand I was doing this all for Hudson, but I know one of two things would happen. One, she'd question why I'd do such a thing to help a moron like Hudson. Two, I'd get punched in the nose, and then she'd tell me that I would have to make up an embarrassing excuse to tell the medics why my nose was broken.

I'm starting to think that it's best I don't say anything. At least I know how to wash my face to remove evidence of kissing, unlike the dumbfucks in movies.  
Overall, I felt like I actually got something done. I know what's going on with Hudson and I have what I need to go to the Pentagon. Miranda has an idea where Mathias is. I could end the day not feeling like a failure. Honestly, I was hoping that Miranda and I could just be friends, like normal people. I can't blame her for wanting to have a relationship with someone, to have some form of comfort when you're having a tough time in your life. I can see other people being intimidated by her behavior, and misinterpreting her as being clingy and needy, when what she wants is for someone to listen. Then again, it's not other people's fault for not getting the message. _She_ has to be able to communicate that in a way that others will understand.

I should know. I've been struggling with that for quite some time.


	9. Chapter 9

It was past seven-thirty when we left the restaurant. I noticed a bit of a change with Miranda as we talked more, and the only thing on my mind was when I would tell her that I wasn't single. It was just so mean and heartless and I was trying not to be that.

I guess it's just impossible. We can't be nice all the time. I have a life, and I'm not having it ruined. I already have someone I love, and to ruin that would mean ruining me, which I've already done.

I mean, I'm still waiting for the right moment to tell Miranda the truth, so, I guess I'm not that heartless.

Although I half-expected the night to just be dinner and then we both go back to our hotel rooms, I also had a hunch that Miranda was going to want to do something else. Well, I was right; after leaving, Miranda asked if I wanted to take a walk around the city. I shrugged and said "yes."

We went up to the hotel lobby, and walked outside. I had my hands in my pockets, and was looking down. Just walking around with no real goal was so new to me. When was the last time I really got to do nothing? Actually, I should be saying, when was the last time I got to do nothing and I wasn't sick?

I could picture Apone giving me a lecture on how everyone else has been working hard and I've been doing nothing. I found myself experiencing a feeling worse than failure; the feeling of being useless. Mixed with that was the fact that I was still in the dark regarding whether or not I was suffering from post-traumatic stress. Maybe Delhoun would talk to me when I got back to my room, and maybe I could get some sort of answer. If it was true, how do I keep it from everyone else? Would I have to say something? Would I still be looked down upon, or would people start to be more sympathetic?

Honestly, I didn't want people around me to change their thoughts just because I was found to have some kind of psychological problem. That doesn't excuse the fact that I've been lazy, I've been stupid, and I've been worthless. I suddenly wanted to close myself off, and disappear.

As we entered the denser parts of the city, I glanced around at the storefronts and the apartment buildings, and the people and androids going in and out of them. The smell of food was everywhere, but, for once, it wasn't distracting; I was too busy thinking about how I viewed myself, and my stomach was preoccupied with a heavy dinner. Someone on a street corner was playing music with an instrument case on the ground, hoping and waiting for people to drop money in. A group of women left a clothing store, blocking our way for a moment. They were all talking and laughing, and trailed by an android carrying their shopping bags. He looked like he was overworked, but seemed to be doing his best to put up with whatever it was he was putting up with.

Miranda glanced up at me when I hadn't said anything for awhile. "Are you OK? You're quiet."

"I'm alright," I lied. "Just . . . can't find anything to say."

"Ah. Well, that's OK. It's nice to walk and . . . not say anything and enjoy your surroundings."

"Yeah. That." I gave a false smile.

We kept walking after the sun had completely set. By then, it had been over thirty minutes since we left the Marriott, and around two hours since I joined Miranda for dinner. It felt like it had been more than that, and I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. At the moment, I was staring off into space when Miranda tapped my arm and handed me a small ice cream cone.

"You bought me a drink," she said, "I bought you dessert."

"I'm starting to think we're being too nice to each other," I replied, somewhat sarcastically. Honestly, I wasn't too upset; I haven't had ice cream in awhile.

Miranda grinned a little. "I like your sense of humor, Mark."

"Thanks. I like it, too."

* * *

Our evening together concluded at the bottom of the stairway leading to the mall. Miranda gave me a hug, a very long hug, I might add. She looked up at me before letting go. "Thanks for coming. I had a great time."

"No problem," I said. "I had a good time as well."

We stood there, moving to the side when we realized we were in the way of the people going in and out of the complex. The silence became awkward, and Miranda asked, "D-Do you mind if I . . ." while opening her arms again, "give you another hug?"

"Sure." I stayed still as she hugged me again, and glanced down at her. "Is it safe for me to guess that you'd like to do this again someday?"

"Yeah," Miranda replied. "Soon, though. I mean, I'm . . . going back to the university in a few days, and . . . and I know you're probably not going t-to be here very long."

"True. Hey, we'll see each other again. Maybe we can have breakfast or go some tourist spot or . . . just hang out somewhere tomorrow or the day after?"

Miranda nodded. "Yeah, we can do that." She hung onto me a little longer, like I was going to disappear when she let go, then she looked up at me. I didn't move, just let her be happy. Let her think nothing was on my mind. Then she stood on her toes to kiss my cheek.

I gave a slight smile, pretended to appreciate the gesture. "Look, I . . . I gotta get going," I said. "I'm exhausted, and I'd like to go to bed. I'm sure you got stuff to do in the morning-"

"Yeah. Don't remind me." Miranda let go, and walked alongside me as we headed back to the hotel lobby. In the elevator, we were crowded to a corner by other people. Miranda was almost pressed against me, and I smirked while putting my arm around her.

 _All in good fun,_ I thought, _Not like anyone's gonna find out or care or whatever._ As much as I wished I could be playful and flirty, I still felt haunted by guilt and stupidity. It was incredibly painful to fake all these emotions, and smiling hurt worst of all.

When we reached my floor, I may've moved too fast when I pushed my way out of the elevator, and that didn't stop Miranda from yelling, "Bye, Mark!" before the doors closed.

I stood in the hallway for far longer than I should have, feeling very alone and frustrated. Sighing, I headed back to my room, hoping to just take a hot shower and go to bed. Delhoun was just getting out of the shower. He grinned a little. "How was your, ah, 'date,' Drake?"

"Um . . . good." I shrugged. "Miranda saw what they were doing to Hudson."

"Good, bad, or otherwise?"

"I'm going to say 'bad.' She even has reports on things Hornby and his team were doing to Hudson. They deliberately gave him certain bacterial infections to see how his body would react."

Delhoun's expression hadn't changed, but I could sense he was horrified by his silence. "Then . . . tomorrow we go to the Pentagon. You have to get Miss Harrison, though. We'll need all the witnesses we can get."

"That means pulling her away from the college group, and that'll be tricky." I rubbed my face, feeling the stickiness of Miranda's lipstick on my left cheek. "I'll try talking to her tomorrow. See what I can learn about her schedule."

"Drake, we can't adapt to her schedule. We need to do _something_ before these experiments go too far."

A growl escaped my throat. "I'd rather wait than do nothing at all! I'm tired of waiting, and I know you are too, but Apone told me that I am not allowed to interfere without authorization from Command. I'm not fucking up! I-I can't fuck up again! I did that once, and I'm not doing it again!"

Delhoun frowned, hanging up his towel in the bathroom. He didn't say a word. "Fine. Have it your way, Drake. That's how we've been doing it this whole time anyway."

* * *

I know some people say that tomorrow is a new day and the issues of yesterday should just be forgotten. For me, that's tough to do, and I was still fuming over Delhoun's reaction when I woke up this morning. I was angry as I got dressed, and because I was still angry, I decided to skip breakfast. I figured I _would_ do this my way, but I would try to convince Miranda to come with us now rather than wait. I didn't want to bother Miranda, but I felt like I had no choice. While riding up the elevator to her floor, I told myself that I couldn't appear angry when she answered the door, but that felt impossible to do.

I did take a few deep breaths before knocking on the door, but any idiot could tell that did absolutely nothing. Miranda opened the door, and I said, "I'm not putting up with this anymore. First, I can't get Hudson back. Now, my own friend is telling me we can't put off rescue any longer, and-"

"Mark, slow down. What happened?" Miranda replied, taking my hand to pull me into the room.

I did my best to explain everything regarding Delhoun and how I felt. Miranda sat and listened, but I should have known that she wouldn't be able to offer much help emotionally.

"What do you want me to do, Mark?"

"I don't think there's anything you can do." I sighed and rubbed my face, my heart starting to ache. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

"No. How could it be your fault? You didn't know this was going to happen."

"This whole trip is a disaster. Nothing has gone my way. I've fucked up at every turn. All I've done is hurt people."

"You haven't-"

"Yes, I have. I . . . It's my fault Hudson got poisoned. It's my fault my entire squad is mad at me for how lazy I am. It's my fault that I got poisoned a month ago. It's my fault that I got mad at Bishop and got in trouble for it, and it's completely my fault that I got sent to prison." My face was warm, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. "It's my fault I can't . . . process emotions well. It's my fault that I can't deal with the nightmares from those damn flowers. It's my fault I can't stop blaming myself." I tried to swallow past a lump in my throat. "Everything that's happened here . . . just . . . wouldn't have happened if I wasn't around."

"Mark, don't talk like that."

I didn't say another word. I felt incredibly vulnerable. Every part of me was hurting, and dreams and memories came flooding back. I remembered Delhoun trying to comfort me when I almost broke down in a restaurant. I remembered the dream I had where Hudson was yelling at the doctor who threw me out of the room, " _You can't do that, man! He sounded like he was hurting!_ "

I felt like someone was squeezing every organ in my torso. I felt like this whole trip was a way of saying that I had failed at life.

Then I thought back to the dream. Even though it was a dream, Hudson acknowledged that I was hurting.

"Mark?" Miranda was holding a tissue, trying to wipe away the tears from my face. "Are you OK?"

I took a breath, trying to mentally get back up. I felt like I had just lifted my head a little, looking at the part of me that kept beating me back down. There was no good side or bad side. It was simply me, standing in my own way, like a reflection in a mirror. I felt bad for him, because he was the part of me struggling with my past. He was the one feeling guilty all the time, but he had to stop dragging down the part of me trying to make up for my past sins.

For once, he backed down, glaring at me with his fists clenched. Each time I made effort, he kept backing away, but when I was in a sitting position, he moved a little closer, threatening me. I glared back, as if to say, "I'm not letting you kick me down anymore."

Coming back to reality, I replied to Miranda, "I'm OK. Needed a good cry, that's all."

"You don't want to hurt yourself?"

"No, I want don't to hurt myself."

"Are you sure? I'm not leaving you alone until you're absolutely sure."

"I'm sure." Considering my words weren't convincing enough, I reached over to move Miranda's hair out of her eyes, and grinned when that made her blush. "Do you believe me now?"

"No."

I leaned in closer. "How about now?"

Miranda smirked. "Charming looks aren't going to make me say 'yes.'"

I moved closer until our noses were touching. I noticed Miranda's breath quickened, and we both jumped when someone knocked on the door.

"Miss Harrison? You were supposed to be down in the lobby ten minutes ago," an older woman's voice said.

"I slept in!" Miranda replied. "I'm still getting dressed!" She looked at me, whispering, "That's Doctor Madell. Get in the bathroom and hide."

I didn't say anything as I crept over to the bathroom, slowly and quietly closing the door behind me. I sat on the floor, hearing Miranda quickly get dressed before rushing over to the room door.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said. "I'm s-sorry if I look . . . like a mess-"

"That's none of my concern, Miss Harrison. You should've been up and downstairs a long time ago, which would've been made easier if you weren't out so late last night," Madell replied.

"I wasn't . . . out late."

"Really? I saw you dressed for a casual night out while heading back up to my room. Tell me, are you seeing someone?"

"N-No."

"Just out on your own?"

"Y-Yes."

"Oh. My apologies, then. I was going to give you some advice on how to keep a man with you, given your unfortunate situation regarding relationships." Madell gave a small laugh. "Yes, I was once a young lady as yourself. Anyway, today's conference is going to be rather short. Hornby's gathered enough research to submit to the board. He'll be handing out copies after the lunch hour. I have to ask, what do you think about the silver flower being potentially added to the curriculum?"

I had an urge to sneeze, and was trying to stop it by clamping down on my nose and mouth with both hands.

Miranda was saying, "I think it's important we know how to treat silver flower poisoning. It's horrible! Look at what it did to that poor man in the lab!"

"I know, dear, he was in terrible shape. Hopefully, Hornby wasn't lying when he said that today would spent on recovery. Speaking of recovery, I got a phone call about your old android, Mathias, last night. A gentleman at a repair station in Rosslyn said that the police brought him in after he attacked someone here, at the Marriott. I know you put in a request for a new android, but . . . if you'd like a second chance with Mathias, that can be arranged."

Miranda sighed. "Yes, I would like a second chance with Mathias. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and . . . what I did to him was wrong. He deserves an apology."

"We all make mistakes in life. The important thing is to learn from them. Now, let's head on downstairs."

"Hold on. Let me get my purse together. I'll meet you down there."

I heard the door close, but I still wasn't ready to sneeze. Actually, I was beyond ready, but I was struggling to hold it in. For moment, I wondered if every blood vessel in my face was going to burst.

Miranda opened the bathroom door. "Mark, you're clear."

I let go of my face, and sneezed.

"Bless you! Are you OK?"

"I am now. Jesus, that woman's chatty," I said, grabbing a tissue from a box on the sink.

"I know, right? She's a decent person, but there are times-" Miranda clenched her fists. "When . . . When can we s-see each other again?"

"We have to go to the Pentagon to get help for Hudson. I can't do anything, and USCM Command will pretty much take over from there."

Miranda nodded, and hugged me as soon as I stood up. "I hope you were telling the truth about being OK."

"Dear God, it was just a sneeze-"

"Not that, you silly! About earlier, when you were saying how none of this shit going on would have happened if you weren't around!"

I tried to give her a convincing smile while gently pressing her to my body. "What's it gonna take for you to believe me when I say I'm alright? You listened. That's all I wanted." I gave her a kiss on the forehead. "You better get going before Madell comes back. I'll meet you at the Metro platform at . . . four-thirty, OK?"

"OK." Slowly pulling away from me, Miranda didn't stop staring at me as she picked up her purse and jacket before leaving the room. This time, I didn't follow her to the elevator; I headed past the elevators to sit on a couch and stare outside at the traffic below. I needed to think.


	10. Chapter 10

I can say that nothing happened while I waited for four-thirty. Nothing physically, actually. I did a lot of thinking in that time, mainly about how much I missed the rest of my squad. At the same time, I liked being alone. I felt like I was finding out a lot about myself, and how I feel about other people.

Even though I feel slightly less stuck, I still feel stuck. I was glad I was making an attempt to stand up, but I knew I had to save my strength. I had to make sure I was ready to face my problems head-on. I had to start training myself to improve, to start regaining control of my emotions.

It was shortly after two in the afternoon when I spotted a haggard-looking Mathias sitting on a bench outside one of the hotel conference rooms. He glanced up, and said, "Drake?"

"Hey," I replied, a little surprised to see him. "Miranda took you back?"

Mathias nodded, smiling a bit. "If I may . . . I . . . I don't know how to thank you."

"Well, don't."

"No, really, I must. According to Miss Miranda, you're the one who made sure we were reunited. I still don't understand why I was abandoned, but . . . she said she'll never do that again." Mathias sighed. "It's been a rough few days."

"Tell me about it," I said. "You attacked me in my room, you know that, right?"

"I do, and I'm sorry. The gentlemen at the repair station didn't modify my memory in the slightest. My nonsense and behavior were caused by a fluid leakage. Apparently, I really should've had that cough dealt with a lot sooner."

I nodded. "At least you feel better."

"In a way, yes, I do feel better. I think Miranda and I are going to have a long talk when we get the chance. We both failed, on a number of levels, to have a stable partnership. I know she didn't see me as just a practice dummy, and I didn't do a good job at being the friend she needed."

"I don't think you had much of a choice in some situations. You were terrified of being broken, and considering that happened so frequently, you didn't have a lot of time to think about anything else."

"True, and I know that once we go back to the university . . . that's all going to start up again."

I didn't know how to respond to that. "Maybe you'll have a better life when Miranda gets her degree. A lot of people have androids that do housework and stuff like that. Surely, that'll be better than being taken away and broken all the time."

"Hopefully, I'll have time to think about that," Mathias replied.

I thought for a moment. "Is . . . Is Miranda free right now?"

"Not for another hour or so. Why?"

"I dunno. Just bored. We're going somewhere at four-thirty."

"Are you dating?"

I snorted. "No. Not really."

A smirk crossed Mathias's face. "Are you positive, Drake? She was telling me how warm and gentle you are."

"She told you about me, huh?" I shook my head. "Wait, what else did she say?"

"She said that as much as she wants to say something along the lines of 'I love you,' she feels it's too soon."

I looked down at the floor, wondering if there was ever going to be a good time for me to tell Miranda that I already had someone who loved me. The fact that she wanted to love me was hurting a little, but I felt the best thing to do was keep playing this game until I went back to Australia. Maybe she'd begin to forget about me. Maybe she'd find someone else, someone who made her just as happy, and I could be happy with Vasquez.

I did feel like crap for what I was doing, and I told myself I was going to have to be really, really nice to Vasquez when I got back. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, and I wanted to make her happy.

Until then, I had to keep this damn charade up, and I said to Mathias, "I'll be right back."

I had a lot of time before I needed to go to the Pentagon and get Hudson safe, so I headed down to a gift shop in the mall, and went back to Mathias with a small bouquet of flowers, a chocolate bar, and a card, and said, "Here. Give this to Miranda when she comes out of the meeting."

* * *

I had to be real, though, when it came to getting Hudson rescued; there was a good chance that this could go wrong. I took a breath, trying to convince myself that putting this in the hands of Command was the right thing to do. There was no way this could go wrong.

While I was sitting on a bench at the Metro platform, Miranda walked over, taking a seat next to me. She glanced at me, and said, "I got your present."

"Yeah? Did you like it? I wasn't entirely sure what flowers you like, so, I just grabbed the variety bouquet," I replied.

"I liked it. And the candy. And the card. I kinda figured you'd get a card with the most wise-ass saying on it."

"Of course I did." I glanced up a large display showing the arrival times of the train. We still had ten minutes. "So, I noticed you got Mathias back."

"I did. Also, shame on you for using him as an errand boy."

"Aw, that wasn't very romantic?"

"No! Mathias has been through a lot of shit. Don't do that to him."

"Well, it's better than what they're gonna do to him when you go back to the university."

Miranda sighed. "You have a point." She looked at me. "I'm guessing that . . . you're leaving when you get your friend back?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Hudson and I are stationed down in Australia, and that's a long flight."

Miranda took a moment to think. "You know I wish you could stay, right?"

"I know. Not possible, though. Hey, I'll visit if I ever get the chance." I took a breath. "Look, I . . . I know that we've started connecting on a personal level, and, don't get me wrong, I like you. You're smart, you're nice, and I hope you become the best doctor you can be, but, I think we should just be friends." My heart was pounding rapidly, and I was certain that I fucked up, big-time.

Miranda bit her lip, and tears started filling her eyes.

I turned to face her. "I know that I've been doing a lot of nice things for you and vice versa, and I know that we kinda rushed head-on into the part of a relationship where we're comfortable with hugging and little kisses, but I think we were both really stressed at the time, and it's time to take a step back and look at everything as a whole. I'm not even convinced that we were actually dating, and here's why-" I swallowed past a lump in my throat, "I'm already seeing someone."

The color drained from Miranda's face. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she put her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I know that might not mean anything to you, but, please understand that I really am sorry. I've been feeling horrible about this for a few days now."

She sobbed. "Mark, why?"

"Because I knew you liked me and I took advantage of that in order to get help from you. It was wrong, I know, and I'm sorry."

"So, everything you've done- _everything_ -had no meaning whatsoever?! Y-You pretended to care about me just to get information about Hornby's experiments?!"

I shook my head. "When I got you the piña colada, that was a genuine gesture."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No."

"Well, I have a hard time believing that. I get it; the things your friend is going through are awful, but I can't forgive the fact that after you attempted to help me with Mathias, you stab me in the back. I fucking trusted you with every problem I have right now, and you treated it like garbage, like it meant nothing to you! I thought I had gotten to know you!"

"You did get to know me!"

"Exactly! I got to know that you're lower than dirt and you think that in order to get help, you have to play with someone's heart and then throw it away!"

I had a feeling that this kind of response would happen, and I knew that she wasn't going to forgive me anytime soon. Who would? This really was all my fault, and I had to deal with the consequences. "You know, I do appreciate all you did for me, and I really wish that we could be friends. I understand that you're upset. It's completely my fault, and I should just . . . leave, I guess." I gave a nervous laugh. "Not sure what else to do. It'd be even crueler for me to leave and not attempt to make things better. I don't want this trip to end on a bad note."

Miranda sighed. "Why am I having a hard time believing you?"

"Because you're upset about all this and it's clouding your way of thinking." I realized that I sounded a little too much like a smartass with that, but maybe that was good thing.

I think Miranda was torn between how she'd react to that comment. She looked like she wanted to keep screaming at me, but she also looked like she was thinking about it. After all, she did say that she liked my sense of humor, and felt my sense of humor was genuine. However, I wasn't necessarily trying to be funny here. I was more or less entering a panic mode because the train was approaching and this might be my only chance to get Hudson rescued _today_.

Miranda was looking up at the arrival times as well, and occasionally glancing at me. I was half-expecting her to leave, to dismiss everything I said, or go back to saying I was basically dirt, but she didn't. She gave another sad sigh, and asked, "Mark, why am I so . . . selfish?" More tears rolled down her face. "I-I've always known that when people get to know me, they see that I'm very selfish. I-I know that you're trying to help someone out, a-and here I am . . . making you out to be the devil. I feel like if you'd told me earlier that you already . . . in a relationship with somebody, that I would've conducted myself differently around you, but that didn't happen. I never thought about whether or not you had a girlfriend and assumed you were single. I mean, part of that came from the fact that you weren't shocked or angry when I kissed you in the mall. I think I'm the one who ruined the whole thing . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she went back to staring at the ground.

"I don't think you're being selfish because you think you're better than everyone else," I replied. "Based on what you told me, I think this is all a result of you not getting a lot of time for yourself. Hell, you're the one who wanted to be a doctor. Didn't you know it would take more than, what, eight years to accomplish that?"

"I did know that, but I didn't know it would be this . . . time-consuming on a day-to-day basis. I know that when I graduate I'm going right to work, and I know that shifts for doctors are long and tedious. I thought this was going to be the best path for me. My parents supported it, my teachers in high school supported it, my friends supported it. I guess I had a very fantastic idea of what life was going to be like, and then I saw what life really is like on my own. I don't want to say that life sucks, because I've had moments where it didn't. Every moment with friends and ex-boyfriends and, well, you showed me that there's so much life has to offer that makes people happy. I feel like I'm throwing that away."

"Hey, I pretty much threw away my chance at having a happy life. I didn't even graduate high school because I got sent to juvenile prison. I'm trying to make the best of it, but it's certainly not easy."

"Doesn't explain how I can appear less selfish in front of other people."

"Take a little bit more time when you meet new people. You're lucky you ran into emotionally-wrecked me, because a normal person would've been intimidated by how you present yourself. You definitely moved way too fast if you were trying to initiate a romantic relationship. If you really want to have a relationship, take the time to think about what you did wrong. Now, listen, I have not read any part of the book of love, but, I was a bit of a flirt when I was in high school, and since I've been with my girlfriend for a few years, I've learned a little bit on what works and what doesn't." I shrugged. "Some of it might just be my opinion, but if it works, it works. As for the selfish part, I think the best thing you can do is be honest without being forceful. People will misinterpret you if you don't say anything about what's going on, but, again, take some time before opening up about things like that."

A faint smile appeared on Miranda's face. "I'll take all that into consideration."

As the train came to a screeching halt by the platform, I stood up, and looked over my shoulder at Miranda. "My offer on being friends is still up in the air."

"And I'll take it." She stood up as well, following me onto the train. "For now, we should focus on helping Hudson."

* * *

I couldn't blame Miranda for being nervous as we walked up the steps from the Metro platform to the Pentagon. She was the only civilian we saw as we headed to the heavily guarded gates. Enlisted and officers alike from all branches were everywhere. Even I was a bit nervous. Here were so many ordinary people who chose this path in life . . . and then there's me. A murderer. Offered a second chance.

The guards weren't going to make it easy to get inside the Pentagon, and who could blame them. It's their job. I was patient with them, knowing I couldn't rush them or get upset, or else I wasn't getting an audience with General Russell himself.

Eventually, after a lot of questioning and communicating with someone inside who had my I.D. pulled up, we were allowed in. Miranda stayed behind me as we were escorted through a maze of hallways. The building was alive with activity.

Our escort didn't leave once we were in Russell's office. I was anxious about meeting the general for the first time. We've seen him before, but I've never gotten up close and personal with him.

I held a shaky salute when Russell entered the room. He's an older gentleman with thinning red hair and a well-built frame. As far as I know, he's very hands-on with all his operations, and expects all officers under his command to do the same thing. There's no camping in the APC with him.

"Private," Russell said, sitting at his desk while gesturing for Miranda and I do sit as well. "I was informed you got a report on Doctor . . . Hornby, is it?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"When your sergeant told me you'd be in the area to 'watch' Hornby, I was hoping I didn't have to see you, but if Hornby's fucking around with your combat tech, I'd like to know about it."

I nodded. "I hate being the bearer of bad news, but, it's true. Hornby's . . . hurting Hudson." I glanced at Miranda. "I brought a witness, too."

"Alright. What've you been seeing?"

"Hudson has been starved, dehydrated, and infected with various diseases to test how the poison in his body reacts to it. He's also been trying to treat Hudson with an alien hormone that . . ." I shuddered. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking about the day I saw Hudson lose all sense of himself. "It . . . It's like he becomes . . . part-animal!"

Russell switched his gaze to Miranda. "What'd you see, young lady?"

Miranda fiddled with her hair and her purse. "The same as what Mark described. I . . . I'm a med student, and I . . . I was shown around the-the lab."

Russell rubbed his face, thinking. He sighed before saying, "You two are dismissed. I'll handle things from here."

* * *

Before I could go back to my hotel room, I had to make contact with my squad back in Australia. I went to a travel station a few buildings down from the Marriott, and was directed to a room exclusively for military personnel where I could make a private call. While waiting for someone to pick up, I realized that I was close to finishing this crappy adventure, but at the same time, I've grown attached to this place, and some of the people here.

"Is that you, Drake?" Apone said over the phone.

"It sure is," I replied. "Russell's working on getting Hudson out of Hornby's lab."

Apone was silent for a moment. "How is Hudson?"

"I . . . It's hard to describe. I guess the best thing I can say is that he was being tortured."

"Are you bullshitting me, Drake?"

"No, sir. I'm telling you the God's-honest truth. Hudson's in bad shape right now. You'll see it when we come back to base."

* * *

I returned to my room to find Delhoun sitting by the window with a cup of hot chocolate. "How did it go?"

"Good," I said. "General Russell is working on getting Hudson out of the labs."

Delhoun nodded. He then noticed Miranda behind me. "Who is your friend, Drake?"

"Oh, this is Miranda Harrison. Mathias's owner."

Miranda shyly waved to Delhoun. I left them alone to introduce each other, getting my own cup of cocoa and sitting at the window. My thoughts about Hudson drowned out all other conversations around me, yet . . . I felt a weight had lifted from my shoulders.

I guess it was the fact that I accomplished something that allowed me to feel less stuck. There was also the fact that I wasn't pretending to be in love, and I felt a little more free when it came to how I acted. Miranda and I went to a fish fry joint on the Potomac River the next day, sitting out on a deck facing the water, with a great view of the D.C. skyline. In a way, I treated this like a celebration, especially since we had gotten word that Hudson was successfully removed from the labs. I wanted to feel better about everything that happened, but as I talked and laughed with Miranda, I had a creeping feeling that there was really nothing to be happy about.

I knew that I was going back to Australia tomorrow. I was going back to the same routine I've gotten used to over the years. I also knew that Hicks wanted me to get a medal for pulling Hudson out of the building with the flowers, but part of me felt like I didn't deserve it because I couldn't get Hudson out of Hornby's grasp sooner. Plus, I had spent much of this trip putting myself down. I shouldn't get a medal for courage if that's how I am. However, I know I did try to improve myself. I don't think I've made a lot of progress, but at least I know when I'm going to put myself down and blame myself and overall feel like a loser. I may not stop it, but I recognize it.

I kept all this to myself throughout the night, not wanting to dampen the mood. We went on a walk along a pier after dinner, and Miranda asked if it was alright that she send me letters. I said that it was illegal I tell her the address of the base, but she could send it via the USCM mail stations because they know where every planetary base is and where each soldier is stationed. I personally didn't see the harm in us corresponding regularly, just as long as we weren't sending love letters, but I was a little worried Vasquez would get the wrong idea if she saw it and assumed I was cheating. She's got common sense; I'm pretty sure that if I explain everything, I won't get punched in the nose.

Around nine o'clock, we went back to the hotel. I let Miranda give me one last hug before we went our separate ways, and when the elevator doors closed to take her up to her room, I knew that was going to be the last time I saw her for a long time. I had wished her luck with completing her degree and helping Mathias, as well as finding someone else to love, and then I headed to my room for my last night in Washington.

* * *

After arriving at the air base, the cargo plane was already waiting for us, and I was greeted by Apone and Hicks. Another team of Marines was helping Hudson to the plane. I felt terrible when I saw him. He was thin and tired. The brightness he usually has in his eyes was gone, replaced by fear and trauma. Dear God, I know that look all too well.

"Well, you weren't bullshitting anyone," Apone said when he saw Hudson. "Looks like someone beat the stuffing outta him and then hung him out to dry."

"Got that right, sir," Hicks mumbled, helping carry Hudson into the plane. "You doing alright, Drake?"

"I'm OK," I replied. "Had a long week, that's all." I sat by a window, and almost immediately began browsing through my memories of the last week. It definitely had its ups and downs, and it wasn't short on tense moments. I learned a lot about myself, that's for sure, and I'm certainly not done learning.

I gazed out the window as the plane took off, and I watched the lights of D.C. become mere dots. The distance between myself and the city increased, as did my disbelief about whether or not I actually made some form of improvement on myself.


End file.
